


The Sand In Your Shoe.

by RedStarFiction



Series: The Sand In Your Shoe. [1]
Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Mature Ian Gallagher, Mature Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich in Mexico, OMC - implied not graphic, POV Mandy, Shameless Imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 50,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12007230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: This is going to be an extended piece. It is set with total acceptance of the Shameless series so far, including Mickey escaping to Mexico and Ian choosing to stay behind, Mickey being a fugitive and all our feelings about that happening.What I want to write is the story afterwards, the story that I would like to see and I hope some of you will enjoy it too. Thank you for reading and please do let me know your thoughts.Thank you to everyone in this fandom who has made me so welcome, some of you have been here for years and I am incredibly new to the Shameless Universe and you have just been wonderful to me and my writing. It is greatly appreciated.Shamelessly4Shameless on Tumblr. Much love, Han xxx





	1. Twenty-Five, Still Alive.

Ian flicks through the small clutch of envelopes and holds his breath just a little longer than is normal. It has been so long now that he doesn’t even have to pretend to himself, it has become a ritual like so many others, infinitely small in the scope of his life and easy to slip under the radar of consciousness because of it.

Finding only the hand-writing he was expecting, Ian begins to open his birthday cards. Half way through his twenties already. Ian shakes his head. Twenty-five and still alive. He feels almost proud of achieving that much on its own. He lines the birthday cards up on the kitchen table. His apartment is shabby but clean and Ian doesn’t want it to be more than that. Trevor took most of the soft furnishings with him when he left and Ian doesn’t mind that either. He actually prefers a minimalist way of living; it’s easier to keep track of everything, including his meds and moods. 

He drinks his morning coffee, considers lighting a cigarette but he has been cutting back lately, and decides to save it for later when he goes over to the old house for lunch. Everyone will be smoking there and he’ll want to join in. 

Ian washes up the dishes and checks his phone for texts, finds six of them, responds to each and then gets his running gear ready, lining it up with a slightly obsessive precision. That is another thing he doesn’t mind, being alone to indulge his whims without someone asking why he is doing them. He prefers it when people mind their own business and let him mind his. 

His phone vibrates again and he smiles at the message on the screen. It’s from a guy he is fooling around with, sweet and a little dirty but short and to the point. Ian exhales gratefully; Jared seems to be fine with speaking his mind and just tends to blurt whatever he is thinking, which is fine with Ian. He also loves that despite being a rich, white boy from New York, Jared swears like a trucker and has the word ‘Fuck’ tattooed on his ribs. It’s a throwback from a horrible drunken frat party apparently but it makes Ian hot for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on. He chucks clean clothes and some shower stuff in his backpack so he can run to South Side and shower at Fiona’s place when he gets there. 

On his run, he deliberately takes a longer route that takes him around some of his old haunts. Ian knows that they are mostly run down, shit holes of places but it’s his birthday and he can’t help feeling nostalgic. Ian’s doctor has said that if he starts to dwell for unusually long periods on uncomfortable thoughts or feelings, he should try to take a step back and figure out what is going on so he does not allow himself to do this kind of thing often. Impulse control is a big thing for Ian and he takes it very seriously. 

So maybe the events that unfold are just because it is his birthday and he is indulging his romantic, old-soul, nature. Maybe it is because he had a couple of beers the night before and his meds are slightly off making him feel everything more sharply. Maybe it is just fate. Ultimately it doesn’t fucking matter. The events that unfold do so as they will and Ian will follow his instinct for as long as it will carry him and it will carry him a very long way indeed.


	2. The Fall.

Ian was breathing heavily, not yet winded but if he pushed himself a little harder, he would be. His shirt was clinging to his body damply, the sweat starting to pool and then soak into the waistband of his shorts. Ian smiled to himself, he as always happiest when his heart was pumping and his focus directed to something physical. It quietened the white noise that still existed in his head to a delicate echo rather than a reverberating chatter. The pills kept it from forming a roaring wave that would sweep his sanity away though, and for that, he was grateful.

Ian considered running past Mandy’s old house, refusing to think of it as anything other than Mandy’s house, but changed his mind almost immediately. He had not heard from Mandy in nearly three years and as for the other residents of that property … Ian cut the thought off as a sweet, cocky smile materialised in his mind’s eye, a pink tongue just visible, poking at one corner of the wide grin.

Some things did not need dredging up, ever. That house and the memories he had of it … no. They could stay away. Fuck! He always hated coming to South Side.

Ian ducked his head, charging past the street sign at full speed. He saw the kid a split second before he almost collided with him. Ian swerved, lost his footing and went sprawling into the street, skinning both knees and the palms of his hands on the hot tarmac.

“Woah! You alright, mister?”

Ian looked up, intending to make some shitty quip about whether or not he looked alright but the sight of delicately arched eyebrows knitted together over clear blue eyes, stopped the words in his throat.

“You’re bleeding!”

The boy, skinny and a little dirty, but not in any way unusual for kids his age, came into the road and bravely offered Ian a small hand, his lip caught between his front teeth. He was clearly anxious about offering to help this clumsy stranger but he had decided to do it and so he’s going to stubbornly push through with the plan regardless, Ian doesn’t have to know the little boy to know his motivation. It is exactly what the kid’s father would feel. Ian had to blink a couple of times to clear his eyes before taking the little hand and letting himself be tugged up.

“Yeah, it’s cool. Don’t worry about it, I’m fine.”

Ian shook his head to clear the high pitched buzzing that had filled his ears. Not the white noise of his condition, but a red noise, a riot of colour and ferocity that made it hard to focus.

“The cops after you?”

“Huh?”

“You were running – is it the cops?”

Yevgeny Milkovich peered up at Ian who shook his head mutely

“Nah, I just like to run.”

“Weird.”

Yevgeny’s soft brown eyebrows rose as his lip quirked upward in a semi-sneer and Ian had to look away. It was just too much and he began to wonder if he maybe cracked his head in the fall and was hallucinating.

“Yevgeny!”

Both of them turned toward the shout, guttural and strongly accented. Yevgeny jumped away from Ian as if he had just grown two heads and looked guiltily at his mother, storming towards them.

“What do I tell you about strangers? You want strange man to snatch you away?”

“No, Mama.”

Yevgeny trotted towards her and Ian hoped that they would just leave but Svetlana kept walking, draping a hand around Yevgeny’s shoulders as she reached him.

“Hello, Carrot Boy.”

“Svetlana.”

Ian pursed his lips and fixed his gaze a little above her head so that he would not have to see the calculating look on her face as she appraised him. He hadn’t seen her since leaving the neighbourhood three years ago but she had not changed much. She was still beautiful in that slightly cruel way that always made Ian a little uneasy.

“You’re living here again?”

“No. I live North side. Just visiting.”

“Ah.”

The silence hung between them a moment and Ian had just made up his mind to go when Svetlana caught his hand, gripping it firmly. She seemed to have made her own mind up about something and Ian prepared himself for some sort of Russian curse or a warning to stay away from them.

“He says ‘Hello.’”

“Who?”

Ian was so shocked that for a moment he was genuinely confused. Svetlana clucked her tongue impatiently

“Santa Claus! Who do you think? Stupid man.”

She frowned at him as if offended by his slowness as Ian removed his hand from her grip, gently but firmly.

“You want I should say ‘Hello’ back?”

“No. I …”

“Probably good choice. Hello was years ago. But I have not seen you and I was paid to give message, not search country for stupid fire-head.”

“Years?”

Ian felt cold panic flood his chest cavity despite himself. Mickey would not have gone years without news of his son, without checking in at all. If Svetlana had not heard from him then something had to have happened to him.

“He sends money for Yevgeny but no other message for you.”

Relief. Pure, blissful relief coursed through Ian’s body making his legs weak. He was so stunned by his fall, Yevgeny’s appearance, Svetlana’s message that he did not even try to deny it to himself. The images which had crowded his mind; Mickey in a ditch, Mickey in a car wreck, Mickey with a bullet hole in his head, faded out at Svetlana’s words and Ian sank down to sit on the curb at their feet.

His hands trembled violently and he clasped them around his raw, bloody knees to try to hide it from them. When it became clear he had nothing else to say Svetlana sniffed dismissively and tugged her son’s collar gently.

“Yevgeny, come.”

“Bye Carrot Boy.”

Yevgeny waved over his shoulder and Ian raised his own hand weakly in response.

He watched them walk back toward the Milkovich house, Yevgeny looked over his shoulder once more, leaving Ian with the image of hauntingly familiar blue eyes before Svetlana said something sharply and he turned away again.


	3. All that was.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see Ian dealing with left over feelings, things he couldn't or wouldn't deal with before.

Ian stands under the shower at the Gallagher house and tries to gather his thoughts in a way that isn’t going to cause him to freak out. He hasn’t let himself think about Mickey in a long time, or at least not in any real sense. He has woken in the night a few times; Mickey’s name on his lips and the evidence of his thoughts on his hand or tear tracks on his cheeks, once or twice, both. However, that was years ago and Ian thought he was past it. He thought he was happy to be past it!

Ian does not know why seeing Yevgeny has dredged up so much for him He does not understand it because he knew the kid was around!

Maybe that is Ian’s problem: he knew Yevgeny was around and he had made no effort to know him. He had been so involved with Yev as a baby, had been a huge part of his life and although Ian had made mistakes, he had loved him, loved him as if Yev were his own son. How had it come to this? Seeing him in the street and those beautiful eyes looking upon him as if he were a stranger.

Everything Ian had cared about back then had gone to shit. Ian had blamed Mickey for so much of it – God! He had been so fucking angry with him! 

Ian scrubs his face hard with his bare hands, he can barely stand to be in his own skin and he cranks the water up as hot as it will go, scalding his back in the thirty seconds before the heat craps out and he is finds himself in an ice-cold deluge. The change in temperature makes him gasp and his nipples pucker painfully, his shoulders rounding against the shock of the change.

Ian can feel himself losing the battle of staying in the moment, images swirl through his head unbidden, and finally, under the cold stream of the shower he gives into it.

He remembers Yevgeny’s conception and now he can see it from the perspective of a grown man, not a hurt and scared kid. He is seeing Mickey, wounded and defeated, humiliated beyond Ian’s comprehension at the time, desperately using the one act of defiance left open to him, flipping the woman over and fucking her quickly, trying to get it over with and end the nightmare for both of them. Ian saw it now for what it was, the one thing Mickey could do to try and stop himself being a complete victim, to try and gain some sort of control.

He is seeing Mickey marrying Svetlana, remembering that damned tacky-ass tuxedo and too much wax in his thick black hair. Doing what he was told to do by a sadistic old man who would have no problem killing Mickey, killing Ian, killing anyone to crush the defiance from those who remain. Ian remembers the way Mickey looked at him and the resigned set of his shoulders when Ian begged him not to do it and then the feel of his lips pressing against Ian’s own, so fucking desperate to make Ian understand the words that Mickey couldn’t say. Ian even remembers the stupid flower in Mickey’s buttonhole, the same colour as his eyes, and how it got crushed between them, but the petals just sprang back as fake as the occasion it decorated.

Yevgeny’s christening. The rage he had felt, so determined that he wouldn’t hide the love he and Mickey shared anymore. He hadn’t thought about the timing of it all. Hadn’t been willing to let Mickey off the hook again. Now or never was the ultimatum he had given. Mickey had been furious with him of course, pushed him, threatened him, called him names and told him to go. Ian remembered the hurt, the feeling of his chest constricting with love and anger, being willing to walk away to preserve both his dignity and his freedom.

Ian steps out of the shower and looks in the mirror, his reflection is scuffed and blurry in the steamed glass but he sees the kid he had been then clearly enough and is at once so proud of that kids determination and dismayed at how blindly resolute he had been. It was a wonder Mickey had managed to keep his shit together at all that day, the stress of everything going on and Ian insisting on being there, even when Terry arrived, then forcing Mickey’s hand with an ultimatum…

He can’t help but grin as he towels himself off thinking of Mickey coming out. ‘I’m gay. A big ol’ Mo’ – only Mickey could have come out with those words in a crowded bar in front of his homophobic father and his wife. Those blue eyes had shone with terror and reckless abandon but his voice had never wavered, not once. Not when he proclaimed himself and not when he looked directly at Ian and said ‘You happy now?’ in that tone which made the hair on the back of Ian’s neck stand up. Fuck. Ian had never been so proud of anyone before or since for that matter and he admits it freely because it was the bravest thing he has ever seen anyone do.

Then the fight and the way Mickey had screamed at his father, years of repression, loneliness and fear pouring out of him as the police held him against the snow covered car, the white turning pink beneath Mickey’s chin as his blood trickled and smeared onto it.

Ian remembers looking at him afterwards, filthy, beaten, bloody and somehow smiling. That bright cheeky smile that at one time made Ian’s world keep spinning. When had that changed?

Ian tugs his clean clothes on, ignoring the raging cockstand thinking of Mickey has caused. He won’t do anything with that because to do so feels somehow sleazy. Ian sits on the edge of the tub and finally starts to cry.

He is crying for Yevgeny, who might have called him some variant of ‘Dad’ had things been different.

He is crying for the haunted but brave young man he remembers.

But most of all he is crying for the damn futility of it all. Everything they went through and everything they meant to each other. It all eventually went away anyway and Ian can’t even remember why.

Ian sniffed, hiccupped, and wiped his hands over his face, blowing his nose on his running shirt and patting his cheeks firmly, trying to get a grip. Most of his family is downstairs waiting for him and all the things he is crying about are over and done.

He thinks of Caleb and of Trevor and shakes his head, giving his eyes one final wipe. He never cried like this over either of them and a part of him stubbornly thought it was because their relationships had been healthier but Ian was not a natural liar, not even to himself, and he knows that is not all there is to it. It never could have been.

“He says ‘Hello’.”

Only Mickey would send that message and not see how useless it is in the face of everything that had happened. Or maybe he had and had decided to send it anyway. Ian wishes he had told Svetlana to say ‘Hello’ back to him. He knows it would be a bad move, after all this time to open up old wounds but as Ian looks down at his shaking hands in his lap he realises that what he thought were hardened scars, are in fact only delicate scabs and he has ripped them off, leaving a very raw wound in plain sight.


	4. Trade Off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we have our first glimpse of Mickey and his new life.

Mickey sits up in bed and coughs into his cupped hands for a second before lighting up his first smoke of the day. He can feel the hangover pulsing in his temples and a look around the room suggests that he continued the party privately long after the bar closed and he kicked everyone else out. Mickey lives above the bar and his apartment is comfortable but he doesn’t own much. He prefers it that way. He also prefers living alone, people mind their business and he can mind his.

There is a groan next to him and Mickey half turns, surprised to see a pale leg poking out from beneath the covers. He raises his eyebrows in silent admonition of himself and then stands up with a stifled groan of his own. He should probably be curious about the man in his bed but it doesn’t really matter to him right now and he decides to worry about it later.

Mickey is looking out of the kitchen window, watching the waves roll into the shore, pushing slim strands of seaweed up the sandy banks, a mug of coffee rolling between his hands, when he hears a throat clear behind him.

“Er… Morning.”

Mickey coughs to conceal a small, surprised laugh and raises his cup to the younger man.

“Hey. Wanna coffee?”

“No … No thanks, man. I should go. I … er … I don’t know what we did last night but I’m not gay.”

The kid, still wearing his eighteenth birthday badge on his shirt from the night before looks like he’s going to cry and Mickey feels a bit sorry for him. He remembers now, this pretty young redhead had been obsessed with how ‘cool’ Mickey’s tattoos were and kept buying Mickey drinks until he stopped telling him to fuck off and started actually talking to him. Kid was from money and on an adventure to mark his adulthood! Well, he fuckin’ marked it for sure!

“Suit yourself, but if you are fuckin’ gay, that shit is gonna come out at some point. Live with it, man. Liking what you like don’t make you less of a man.”

“Cool … er… thanks.”

“No worries, Red.”

Mickey can’t remember his name but he’s not likely to see him again so what the fuck does it matter?

Once the kid has left Mickey makes himself a plate of eggs and has another coffee. He hasn’t slept with anyone for a few weeks and the urge was building up and redheads … yeah well. Mickey is well aware of how he feels about them and at this time of year Mickey is always a little distracted, a little reckless maybe.

It’s Ian’s birthday today – twenty-five years old! Jesus. That means it is around a decade since he broke into Mickey’s house with a damn crowbar and everything that incident set in motion. Mickey hasn’t heard from Ian since that day at the boarder, it sucks but he can’t say it massively surprises him either. Ian made himself clear and Mickey respects that even as he wishes it had been different.

Mickey stretches his hands above his head. He wonders what Ian is doing today. It is easier to think about him now, not that Mickey has ever tried not to, Ian is his point of reference for most of the things that Mickey doesn’t mind about himself.

He knows that he is capable of love, because he loved Ian.

He knows that he is loveable, because Ian loved him too, once.

Those things are worth a lot to Mickey and he sees them as equal against the heartache that loving Ian caused him. 

“Happy Birthday, Firecrotch.”

Mickey lifts his coffee cup to the small photo taped to his fridge, next to the latest photo of Yevgeny. Svetlana sent him it a couple years ago, along with a couple of letters and some other shit, no doubt trying to butter him up in the hopes of getting more money for Yev – calculating bitch, Mickey thinks fondly. Mandy must have taken the picture originally ‘cause Mickey had certainly never seen it before it arrived in the mail.

It is a picture of Ian sat on the couch and Mickey is beside him. Ian has his head tipped slightly back, he is laughing at something Mickey is saying, and Mickey is leaning toward him, one hand on Ian’s knee, the other gesturing about some dumb thing no doubt; but they’re happy. No doubt about that.

Mickey used to keep the picture hidden away at first because it was a little painful to see it, but then Paulo moved in and it seemed a bit weird to have a picture of his ex on display so he left it in the duffle bag that he kept ready, just in case he ever needed to split in a fucking hurry.

Then Paulo left to try his luck in the USA and Mickey decided to put Ian’s photo up. It was a risk because it meant that if the Feds ever caught up to him, he’d have to waste precious seconds retrieving the thing before he could grab his duffle and run but Mickey gets to see Ian’s face every morning and that helps him feel a lot less lonely so it is probably a pretty good trade off.

Mickey sighs and stands up. Time to get his fuckin’ day started.


	5. Care.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian continues to follow his instincts.
> 
> Thank you for reading this far :) 
> 
> Shamelessly4Shameless over on Tumblr xxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a great knowledge of what constitutes triggers for people so this might be a little over cautious but the last thing I want is to unintentionally upset someone so:  
> This chapter has Ian as well as another character referring to him flippantly as 'crazy'.

Fiona takes one look at her little brother’s face and her heart sinks.

“Ian.”

She says his name with so much tenderness it nearly sets him off again but he manages to bite the inside of his lip and shake his head slightly

“I got that cheap shit shampoo in my eyes!”

“That was unlucky.”

Fiona’s own eyes are large and round with concern but she lets him have his white lie and Ian feels a rush of affection for his sister that reminds him of how things used to be when they were both kids.

“Yeah, sucks. Thank you for my card.”

“You’re welcome, sorry there wasn’t a cheque in it. Still haven’t won the damn lottery!”

It is a weak joke but it breaks the miserable tension and Ian manages to smile and even laugh a little. Fiona pours the coffee and Ian cuts his cake. He took too long in the shower and Carl has wandered off on some errand promising to be back soon, Debbie has taken Frannie outside to play and Liam is back in front of his Play Station.

Ian delivers Liam some cake and then joins his big sister at the table. She looks tired but still so beautiful it makes his heart ache and Ian impulsively catches her hand in his and kisses it.

“Er ... why?”

Fiona laughs and ruffles his hair, shorter than he’s had it for a couple of years but still long enough that it needs smoothing back down when she’s done.

“You’re just so fucking gorgeous and I should tell you more often.”

“Wow. Thank you. You know it’s your birthday not mine ,right?”

Ian smiles and gives her hand a squeeze before reaching into his jeans pocket and producing a packet of cigarettes, slapping them on the table and winking at her

“That’s why I’m treating myself to a pre-lunch smoke.”

They sit quietly for a few minutes, both lost to their own thoughts and grateful for the temporary silence amidst the chaos. Ian drums his fingers anxiously against his leg and presses his feet into the floor to keep from tapping them.

“I saw Yevgeny Milkovich today.”

He tries to sound casual but overshoots and his voice wavers, hitting a high note that smacks of a panic attack in the making.

“Jesus. That must have been weird.”

“Yeah, he must be like, seven or eight now.”

Ian knows exactly how old Yevgeny is but he’s trying to cover up his interest.

“Yeah. I’ve seen him around with Svetlana.”

Fiona is watching Ian for reaction and he deliberately keeps his face as neutral as possible.

“He looks like Mickey, doesn’t he?”

She offers finally, with an audible sigh. The expression on Fiona’s face suggests that this is something she has been waiting on for a while and it makes Ian feel predictable and a bit pathetic. For a moment Ian thinks about saying he didn’t notice and changing the subject to something lighter but he doesn’t really want to. Something has awoken in him, something that has lain dormant for so long that Ian had almost forgotten it was there at all and he means to follow it through.

“Yeah he does. Svetlana said that Mickey still sends money, you know?”

“Good. It’s the least he can do!”

Fiona’s brows knit together and she shakes her head. She never had a very high opinion of Mickey to begin with and the fact that he sends money for a son he never sees fails to impress her all that much.

“I know it’s just … I hadn’t thought about him properly for a while and it’s good to know he’s still …”

“Alive?”

“… Free.”

Ian tapped the ash off his second cigarette and smiled weakly at her which only earned him another sigh.

“You know you gotta leave all that in the past, Ian.”

“I suppose … I mean … I just fucked it all up so badly, Fi. I had so much of my own shit going on and with the meds and the bipolar I wasn’t myself or like, the version of myself I wanted to be, and …”

“Stop. Jesus! You’ve got your life together! You’re doing great with your EMT job, you have your own apartment and your own friends. Your meds are stable, you’re healthy…”

“I know. I know all that and I’m happy…”

“Then why risk it for an old boyfriend you haven’t even heard from in years?”

“I’m not going to! I just … forget it.”

Ian shook his head again and closed his eyes. It was easy for him to get pissed with Fi, to resent her controlling ways and know-it-all attitude but the truth was that she had kept them going, sacrificing her own teens and twenties to ensure that all of them were seen right, or as right as possible. She had done so much for them, fought for every single one of them and if she was bossy then she had damn well earned that right. Ian held his temper and smoked in silence until Fiona spoke up again.

“Ian, I know you loved Mickey but he is doing whatever the fuck he is doing and I don’t mean to be cruel, but he probably doesn't even think about you any more. Probably has a whole host of Mexican bang-buddies at his disposal who he can fuck around with without hurting anyone.”

Ian’s head shoots up, green eyes wide and angry.

“Mickey never fucked around, Fiona. I was the one who did that. I did porno and I cheated on him. I was the one who acted like I didn’t care.”

“Oh please! I know Mickey tried really hard when you first got sick, I never denied that and it was good of him but his way of showing ‘care’ was attempting to murder Sammi and busting your face when you pissed him off. I saw the fucking bruises, Ian! You have gotta leave this alone!”

Ian wants to argue with her, tell her that he busted Mickey’s face too and that if he had the guts, he would definitely have killed Terry Milkovich but decides to leave it alone. Fiona is looking pretty upset with him and he can’t really blame her. Ian doesn’t even know why he is dragging all this up or what his end game is. He just knows he feels something in his gut and that isn’t much to go on and certainly not something to fight with his sister over.

“I’m sorry, Fi. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass. I think just seeing Yevgeny … you know. I kidnapped that kid once!”

Ian grins and tries to make a joke of it all and after studying him a moment longer, Fiona gives in and laughs as well.

“Fuckin’ Gallaghers.”

*

Ian leaves the Gallagher house towards dusk, he is feeling much better and his hands have stopped shaking. Mickey is still on his mind, as is Yevgeny, but it is a manageable level of background noise now. He can cross the road, notice his shoelace is undone and make greetings to people he recognises without having to bring himself back from his thoughts first and that is important.

Ian has learned to live a controlled life, monitoring himself carefully to ensure his moods are not swinging unduly one way or the other. If he wants to make an impulse purchase he tries to stop and think for at least five minutes, even if it is only a few bucks. He takes his meds as regularly as he can, he does mess up by an hour here or an hour there sometimes and often forgets to eat with them but he manages reasonably well and even Fiona has stopped asking him if he’s doing it right.

In a way, now that he has it under control this lifestyle suits him okay, he always liked neatness, order and rules. It’s kind of why he wanted to join the army so badly as a kid. He used to feel highs and lows that were not just part of his ‘disorder’ but part of his very soul. Now he tends to crush those feelings down when they arise and has become good at doing so. The only thing Ian truly misses is feeling a regular sense of curiosity. He used to be curious to the point of nosy and now he just doesn’t care enough about most things to wonder.

He realises that he is heading toward the Alibi and pauses mid-stride, his boots scuffing along the sidewalk. The Alibi used to be such a normal part of his routine, not that he was ever a big drinker but it wasn’t weird for him to drop in there to see Kev or find Frank or Lip. Ian thumbs his lip as he considers his options, a habit he doesn’t remember picking up but can’t shake somehow.

He wants to convince himself that it is nostalgia or the desire to see Kev that is sending him there but he knows it isn’t, he knows Kev hasn’t been there for quite some time. He is aiming to see Svetlana.

*

The alibi looks like shit but then it always did and Ian mostly ignores the old bar flies, lifting his hand in greeting to the ones who look up from their beer and briefly make eye contact with him.

“Is Svetlana here?”

The barmaid looks him up and down and Ian tolerates this with all the good grace he can muster. The blonde woman appears to make up her mind finally but doesn’t take her eyes off Ian as she yells

“LANA!”

Svetlana appears a few minutes later, her face sharp and watchful transforming into a small smirk when she sees Ian.

“He still says ‘Hello’. I have not told him Carrot Boy rejects him again yet.”

Ian ignores the jibe.

“Is he OK?”

“How in fuck should I know. I tell him of Yevgeny. He sends money for Yevgeny. It is all.”

Svetlana is eyeing Ian with something that could almost be amusement and Ian wonders if he is barking up completely the wrong tree. He weighs his options but the gut feeling which has been pushing him since looking up into Yevgeny’s eyes from the tarmac this morning won’t quit nagging at him and Ian decides to lay everything on the table. If Svetlana laughs at him, so be it.

“I just want to know he is alright.”

“You have not thought of him until now?”

Her voice is incredulous, almost angry and Ian feels a blush creep up his neck

“It was complicated.”

“You went crazy, he love you. You steal baby, he love you. You too weak to visit in prison without payment, he love you. Not complicated, just stupid.”

Svetlana has stepped behind the bar as she speaks and Ian watches her pull two shots of vodka, she pushes one across the bar towards him and slams the other down her throat before looking him dead in the eye.

“You are selfish little copper shit, no idea of love.”

“And you’re a fucking rapist if we're name calling. Don’t you dare lecture me on love”

The anger comes hot and fast and Ian slams his palm down on the bar hard enough to bruise the heel of his hand. Ian is almost as shocked as Svetlana at the outburst but it wipes the haughty look off her face and that gives him a small sense of satisfaction. She recovers quickly though and Ian crosses his arms over his chest protectively waiting her to strike back. 

“So we both screw with him, just different ways, hmm?”

Svetlana pours another drink and shrugs cooly.

“He is OK. We spoke a little while ago.”

“Will you tell him I say Hello back? You don’t have to but …”

“I will tell him. He may not care but I will tell him.”

“Thank you.”

Ian lets his breath out shakily and sips at the vodka she has given him. He doesn’t know if it is a gift or if he will be asked to pay for it. He doesn’t mind either way really. The feeling that brought him here is draining as well as encouraging and he feels ready to sleep.

“Give me your number.”

Svetlana says suddenly and takes her phone out of her bra, gesturing impatiently to Ian

“Why?”

“In case he cares.”

Those four words make Ian’s mouth instantly dry and his palms slick with sweat. His heart hammers in his chest and he feels a wonderful mixture of fear and hope rise up from the kernel of feeling in his gut, unfurling like a flower stretching out to reach the dawn light. He hasn’t felt anything like this in so long and it is almost painful in its intensity. A distant part of him knows this feeling, it is like returning to a childhood home after living away for fifty years and Ian taps his number into Svetlana’s phone before he can lose his nerve.

“Why would you do this for me?”

“Not for you. What I did … it got me my Yevgeny so I cannot regret it. But perhaps a small debt is owed to his father. A very small one.”

Svetlana smiles slightly at that and Ian feels like his feet have been lifted from the ground and he is floating above himself slightly. The vodka is working far too quickly, he shouldn’t have had it. He needs to leave.

“Thank you anyway.”

He mumbles and staggers out of the bar before Svetlana can say anything further. Ian runs until his breath is like fire in his throat and his legs tremble uncontrollably as he sinks to the ground, sitting on the curb with the sort of oddly graceful clumsiness that only big men have.

*In case he cares*

Fuck. Birthdays make him crazier than normal!

Ian looks up at the darkening sky and wonders when he’ll find out if Mickey Milkovich still cares or not.


	6. Oh, Brother!

The telephone in the bar starts ringing just as Mickey is changing a barrel. He yells for someone else to get it but no one does.

“Hey! Can someone get the fuckin’ phone, please?”

The barrel slips and lands painfully on his bare foot. 

“Mother fucker!!”

Mickey punches the metal casing sharply and stands up, glaring at it.

“I’ll just do everything my fuckin’ self shall I?”

He yells at no one in particular in the split second before he snatches the ringing phone off the hook

“Yeah, what?”

“Collect call from Chicago, Illinois. Will you accept the charges?”

A friendly automated voice asks and Mickey tells it to go fuck itself before hanging up and stomping out to the kitchen where Juan is chopping limes and flirting with Mandy.

“Didn’t you two assholes hear me yelling?

“Yeah but you’re always yelling so we ignored it.”

Mandy grins at her brother and receives a raised middle finger in return

“I’m goin’ upstairs. Juan, change the fuckin’ barrel …”

“Which one boss?”

“The one that’s fuckin’ empty! Jesus Christ! Oh and leave my sister the fuck alone. You can do better.”

Mickey gives Mandy a sarcastic, open-mouthed grin before turning and heading to his room and she raises her own single-digit salute to his retreating back.

“Dick-splash!”

Mandy calls affectionately

“Cock guzzler.”

Mickey yells back

“Takes one to know one.”

Mandy’s voice is triumphant and Mickey tongues the inside of his cheek, refusing to laugh but he doesn’t yell anything back either, grudgingly conceding the win to her.

He blames the collect call. It is the code he and Svetlana use for emergencies. If she is calling then someone is dead, in prison or the Feds are sniffing around for him again.

Mickey takes the stairs to his room two at a time and rifles through his clothes drawer to find a fresh burner phone. He always has two or three ready to use just in case although Svetlana is as cautious about contacting him as he is. Mickey knows that this has very little to do with his actual wellbeing more the fact that he sends money for Yevgeny every month and whatever is best for Yevgeny, that is what Svetlana will do. Mickey likes that about her.

He punches the number in and waits. Svetlana answers after two rings

“Yevgeny OK?”

Mickey asks without preamble and he hears the smile in her voice when she answers

“He’s fine. You are getting better at asking that though. It almost sounds like you care.”

“Fuck you. What’s going on then?”

“Carrot Boy, he says Hello.”

Mickey swallows, his throat suddenly dry and closes his eyes. Whatever he expected it wasn’t that.

“Ian?”

“Yes. He says Hello.”

“What did you say back?”

Mickey’s voice sounds strange even to his own ears and he coughs to try and clear the croakiness from it.

“That you are fine and that I would pass his message on. I also took his number.”

“Did you give him mine?”

“Of course not!”

Mickey licks his lip and he nods for a second before realising that Svetlana can’t see him. Of course she wouldn’t have given out his number, she’s smarter than that which is useful because right now Mickey is not.

“You still there?”

“Yes I’m here.”

“Well can I have his number?”

A pause down the end of the line that can’t be more than a few seconds but to Mickey feels like much longer.

“I will post it to you.”

“What the fuck? Why?”

“Because the red one makes you as crazy as he is. You will come running to him, get yourself arrested and make no money and then Yevgeny does not get new school clothes. You must think.”

“Number fuckin’ one, he’s not crazy, he has a fuckin’ illness. Two, you got no right to withhold that phone number from me like I’m some dipshit who can’t take care of his fucking self and three, I’ve been sending plenty of cash so the kid should have new clothes already. You need more money, get on your knees and earn it.”

Mickey can hear his voice rising to a near shout and doesn’t give a flying fuck. He gets on well with Svetlana with a couple thousand miles between them but he’s not above being an asshole when she talks to him like he’s an idiot.

When she answers her voice is level and polite as if she had not heard his outrage at all and that irritates him almost as much as her previous comments.

“I will post it.”

“Fuck sake.”

Mickey wants to hit something but contents himself with a heavy breath through his nose.

“You want to hear about your son now?”

“Sure.”

Mickey really doesn’t have much head space to hear about little league and school reports at the moment but he listens anyway. Svetlana talks for a while and then pauses and says

“Yevgeny stole his first car.”

“Good.”

Micky mumbles absent-mindedly and hears a snort down the line

“I knew you were not listening.”

“I am fucking listening!”

“Really? I just told you your son stole his first car and you said ‘Good’?”

“Yeah. Why? Did he fuck it up?”

Svetlana laughs and Mickey makes an impatient gesture at the phone, confused.

“Thank God for the Mexican border. Good bye Mikhailo.”

“Wait … Ian’s number. C’mon Svet, don’t be an asshole. It’s been four fuckin’ years.”

“I will post it.”

The phone goes dead and Mickey stares at the little plastic box in his hand as if he has never seen one before.

“What the fuck just happened?”

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, fists balled lightly on his knees. He stares into space for a moment, not seeing the poorly painted walls of his room but a carousel of images that flicker through his consciousness one after the other so quickly he is sure that if he blinks he will miss them.

Freckles across the back of broad, capable hands

Green eyes, lit with laughter and a little red from drinking the night before

A smattering of red hair across the planes of a flat belly

Dark red eyelashes sweeping pales cheekbones, casting shadows in the dim light of a lamp as he watches Ian sleep.

A blue plaid shirt stretched across shoulders that Mickey knows are bruised with his kisses.

Gallagher.

Mickey can’t help the smile that spreads across his face, doesn’t even try and stop it.

The thought of hearing Ian’s voice… Mickey sits up and presses his lips together suddenly overwhelmed.

What the Hell will he say?

He shrugs his shoulders and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes wiping away the moisture which threatens to spill over his lashes.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is he’ll have a chance to say something..

*

Mickey tries to go about his day as usual but he is smiling too much and Mandy keeps giving him these amused little looks until she finally takes a couple of beers from the bar fridge and tugs him away from the counter he is wiping down.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s clean Mick, it’s been clean for ten minutes. Come and take a break.”

She leads him outside and they sit side by side on the bar porch, the old wood dusted with sand and bleached almost white by the sun.

“What’s going on? You look like you just got your dick sucked.”

“Fuck off. I can’t smile a little now without something being up?”

“You can but you never do.”

Mandy lights a cigarette and passes it over to him with a smirk that makes her brother roll his eyes impatiently

“If I tell you, you can’t make a fuckin’ fuss about it, OK?”

“Yeah.”

Mandy nods, sips her beer and waits.

“Svet called … She spoke to Ian and he said to say hey.”

“Ian? Gallagher?”

“How many fuckin’ Ian’s do you know? Yes Gallagher.”

Mandy’s face lights up and she reaches across and squeezes Mickey’s hand tightly

“You happy? Course you’re fucking happy. Look at your face.”

Mickey smiles almost shyly and nods.

“It’s good to know he’s still around. I mean, you know, I don’t fuckin’ care what he’s doing or shit like that.”

Mickey sounds nonchalant but Mandy sees the pulse in his throat jump a little.

“You don’t seem fuckin’ surprised. Did you know he was gonna say something?”

“No. Don’t be paranoid. I just always thought he would reach out one day.”

Mandy releases his hand and sits back looking out across the beach spread out before them but slowly, she allows her gaze to rove round and settle on her big brother.

He is a little tanned and his hair is a little longer than she remembers him wearing it in South Side. The tan of his face makes his blue eyes appear even bluer than usual. Mandy has always been jealous of his eyes, they’re clear and beautiful and she wishes she had that same shade inherited from their mother rather than their father’s darker orbs.

Mickey’s body is different too, leaner than it used to be and he holds himself a little differently too. She can’t quite describe how it is different but the effect is that he looks less wary of the world, more at ease in his own skin.

Mexico has been good for him, good for her too and she will always be grateful to him for dragging her out there and helping her get set up. Kenyatta had finally left her alone and she had taken up with another guy, Phil, who she mostly dated because of his name. He was less violent than Kenyatta but not by much and someone must have told Mickey because one day, three years after he disappeared into the Mexican sunset, her brother had appeared at her door and told her to pack her shit. 

She’d resisted at first and been pissed at him for interfering. She’d yelled at him, pushed him, bitten his arm hard enough to draw blood when he tried to shut her up and slapped his face hard enough to leave a bruise when he yelled back at her.

Finally they’d worn themselves out and Mickey had offered her a cigarette. As they smoked in tense silence her brother had put an arm around her shoulders and spoken to her more gently than she remembered him speaking her in her life. He had told her he was sorry for not doing more to shelter her before. He told her that she was worth so much more than Kenyatta or Phil or Lip Gallagher, that asshole!

He called her beautiful and traced the curve of her cheek bone with one thumb, wiping away her tears with a gentleness she didn’t know he still had. 

“Let me get you out of here, Mandy”

So she had gone with him and expected nothing more than a few weeks shitty vacation before he would change his mind and kick her out but Mickey surprised her at every tun and was as good as his word. He took care of her.

Their relationship began to rebuild both of them learning how to exist in a new environment that wasn’t dominated by violence and Terry’s moods. Mickey still got into fights, Mandy still fucked around a little more than she really wanted to, but they were free to make those choices without fear and Mandy would hand Mickey ice for his swollen knuckles without comment and he left her coffee on the bedside table in the mornings when she slept in late. They’ll never be the Walton’s but they’re family all the same.

“The fuck are you lookin’ at?”

Mickey is peering at her impatiently and Mandy smiles to herself, shaking her head

“Nothing.”

She hesitates

“Do you think Ian is going to call you?”

“Svet only took his number.”

“So are you going to call him?”

“Maybe. I dunno what I’d say.”

"Say something sweet to him.”

Mickey gives her an impatient, side-long look and squints into the sun, not quite willing to make eye contact with her.

“You know if I was him, I’d think you probably hate me.”

“No. He knows I don’t hate him”

Mickey's voice is soft and almost wistful and Mandy wishes she had the words to convince him of what is so obviously true between he and Ian, even now.

“Tell him anyway.”

A lot has changed but Mandy still thinks that women were invented to think for men. In this case she hopes a competent woman is thinking for Ian too.


	7. Crime was his baby.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK guys, so remember, in this fic I am accepting all the bullshit Shameless threw at us up until the end of season 7 - including the damn prison tattoo that would never have happened because Mickey knows damn well how to spell 'Gallagher' ... anyway, like I say, I am accepting it and moving on and in this chapter I try to make something a little wonderful out of that particular bit of awfulness.   
> Thank you for reading, Han xxx

Ian waited and waited. 

For the first week, his heart rushed into his throat whenever a text message came through and he couldn’t seem to get his phone out of his pocket without fumbling it.

After two weeks, he stopped putting it into a baggy whenever he wanted to shower for fear of missing a call.

After three weeks, he made himself turn it off at night so that he wouldn’t be in a constant state of waiting.

He went back to the Alibi to talk to Svetlana and she told him Mickey would either call or he would not. It was probably the least helpful conversation Ian had ever had.

He tried to call Mandy, feeling shitty that he was calling after all this time just to get hold of her brother, but the number he had for her was disconnected.

Finally, at a loss of what else to do, he asked Debbie to show him how Facebook worked.

They met at a coffee shop while Frannie was at pre-school, Debbie was on her lunchbreak from the diner over the street and Ian paid for coffee and sandwiches whilst she set him up.

“It’s literally so easy. You make a profile and add people. It’s like a boring version of Tinder … or Grindr, I guess.”

She tapped away on the screen, pausing to ask his email address and which photo he wanted but otherwise completely focussed on her task. It seemed to be a trait of the redheaded Gallaghers, total and unwavering focus on any set goal.

“Cool.”

Ian nodded and bit his lip, watching her work.

“I don’t think he’ll be on here though.”

“Who?”

“Mickey. Like, he might be but not with his real name.”

Debbie looked up and smiled at her big brother gently.

“It’s OK, I won’t tell Fiona you’re looking.”

“You can … if you wanted to. I don’t really care what she thinks about it.”

Ian shrugged.

“You’re all set. Want me to search him for you?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

Ian slipped his phone into his hoodie pocket and gave Debbie a half hearted smile.

“Besides, even if he wasn’t a fugitive, Mickey wasn’t really a social media kind of guy.”

“No, but he loved you enough to want to kill Sammi for you so he might have made a profile or something so you could find him.”

Debbie stood up and collected her purse from under the seat, ignoring the way Ian dropped his eyes to the floor and started fidgeting with a stray sugar packet on the table.

“Listen, Ian, you loved him and you clearly still do. You left him before because you needed to focus on yourself and that’s fine, but if you find him and don’t go to him now, you’re an idiot.”

“Debs, you don’t understand …”

Huffing, she looked at her watch and then sat down again, reaching across the table to grip his hand tightly.

“I really do. I had a baby because I loved Derek and he split because he had to focus on his life. Crime was Mickey’s baby. He chose to break out of prison because he couldn’t stand being away from you … and probably because prison sucks but I bet you were the biggest pull,”

She pushed a stray auburn curl out of her eyes, not relinquishing the grip on Ian’s fingers

“You couldn’t be part of that crime at the time because you had just got your life where you wanted it to be and I bet no one, including Mickey, really blames you for it, but if you let this go now, without trying to be something to him, you’re just an asshole.”

“Did Derek get in touch or something?”

Ian asked trying to cover up his shock and Debbie laughed

“No, Derek is an asshole. But you’re not.”

She stood up and hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, kissing her brother’s cheek.

“Let me know if you find him and if you need someone to water your plants while you’re away.”

*

Ian walked home in a bit of a daze. Debbie’s words had hit him hard and the heavy weight of guilt and anger that had surrounded everything that had happened at the border began to soften into something more manageable.

Debbie was right. Mickey had chosen to escape and that choice had tied one hand behind his back in regard to setting up a stable, normal life with Ian. It put strains and demands on them that at the time, Ian wasn’t ready for at all and so he did what he did to try and take care of himself. That really was an OK choice to have made, no matter how shitty it felt at the time and since.

But equally, Ian didn’t have that excuse anymore. He was stable and his moods were better, his life was balanced. He had nothing to be scared of in himself and he owed Mickey a proper explanation. Even if it was late. What Mickey did with that was up to him. If he told Ian to fuck off and never contact him again? Well it would suck but that would be his choice and Ian would respect it. If he told him he hated him? Ian swallowed and clenched his jaw, stopping so suddenly the guy behind bumped into him and staggered past with a dirty look.

If Mickey actually said the words ‘I hate you’ then Ian would just have to deal with that.

*

Ian made himself a tea, poured it down the sink and took a beer from the fridge instead. He changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and leant against the kitchen counter sipping his beer and tapping his thumb against the blank screen of his phone. He was afraid. Afraid that he’d find Mickey and he’d be in a relationship. Afraid that he wouldn’t be. Afraid that he wouldn’t find him at all.

He gave himself until the beer line disappeared beneath the blue paper label and then pressed the centre button and watched as the screen lit up.

He navigated to the search bar and after one final sip of his drink, began typing.

Mickey Milkovich - nothing

Mikhailo Milkovich – Five old fat guys and one person who had a Christmas tree as their picture. Defintiely not Mickey.

Mick Milkovich – a college student, two old skinny guys, an old fat guy and a lady with cropped blonde hair.

Milkovich – over two thousand results, none of them Mickey but called one that looked suspiciously like… Mandy!

Ian peered at the phone, his face splitting into a wide grin as he looked at her. She was on a beach, wearing a bikini and flipping off the photographer and she looked so damn happy … Ian felt tears prickle behind his eyes and blinked them away impatiently. He clicked on the little envelope at the top of the screen and typed a message before he could think too much about it:

‘Hey gorgeous, long time no see!’

Within a minute the little grey tick at the side of the message turns blue and moments later he get’s her reply

‘OMG! Ian! How the fuck r u?’

‘Good. Sorry it’s been so long.’

‘U better be! South Side?’

‘North Side. U?’

‘Mexico.’

Ian swallows heavily and lets his thumb hover above the keyboard on screen. Should he ask her? Could he? Mandy was his best friend and his focus should be completely on her but …

‘M call you?’

The message pops up while he is still thinking and Ian’s heart skips a beat and he drops the phone on the floor, quickly scrabbling to pick it up.

‘nsj6644lm’

‘WTF?’

‘Sorry, dropped my phone. M hasn’t called me.’

‘O.’

‘How is he?’

‘Good. U miss him?’

‘Miss both of u’

‘Gonna fuck up again?’

‘No’

Ian could type more but it seems unnecessary. He knows Mandy will trust him based on that word alone and for that he is grateful beyond words. Ian watches the little blue tick beside his message and waits. Minutes tick by and he wonders if Mandy has gone offline but he doesn’t put his phone down, just holds it and keeps waiting.

Finally a message pops up.

‘Tamaulipas. Don’t fuck up. ILY’

Ian stares at it uncomprehendingly for a moment and then Googles it. It is a Mexican state.

‘TY. ILY2’

He types back and goes back to Google. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for exactly but something … a picture of Mickey in some tourist shots maybe … a notice about a crime spree four years ago … a fucking mention of something related to him. Ian just needs to see something, anything really.

He searches for three hours, phones in sick to work, completes his mental health checklist and determines that this is extreme circumstances, makes a sandwich when his eyes start aching and then goes straight back to his search. He has typed every iteration of ‘Mikhailo’ and ‘Milkovich’ he can think of and nothing comes up at all. He takes a shower, goes for a run to get rid of some frustrated energy and comes back to the house just as the sun is setting over Chicago. He messages Mandy

‘Where?’

But she doesn’t respond and he doesn’t really expect her to. If Mickey is really in Tamaulipas then she is probably going to be a shit-storm of trouble with him for telling someone; but Ian has seen the siblings fight numerous times and he knows that Mandy can hold her own.

In a moment of flippant desperation, Ian types the word ‘Gallagher Mexico’ but misses the ‘H’ and accidentally types ‘Gallager Mexico’. Google comes up with the little circular searching button and Ian waits impatiently for it to finish so he can correct his mistake.

‘Did you mean ‘Galagers Mexico’?’

Ian frowns. He has only seen his name spelt that way once. He clicks on the link below the suggestion and is taken back to Facebook. Galagers is a bar in La Pesca, Tamaulipas. There is pretty much no information about it except the address and a couple of reviews. Ian reads the first one and as he does so, slowly sinks down to the floor, not bothering to stem the tears that slip down his face.

‘Cool little place on the beach. Chilled out vibe for the most part but don’t bother trying to be nice to the American staff, both pretty rude.’

Ian doesn’t need to see more. He checks on his map app and books a flight to Brownsville, Texas for the next day. He calls his boss and says that he needs to take a weeks vacation. Maria is pissed but she lets him do it as he has way too much time to use up anyway. He texts Debbie to ask her to water his plants, checks his savings account for the first time in weeks and is pleasantly surprised, finally he throws some clothes into a bag and then picks up his phone again and messages Mandy.

‘OMW’


	8. Pull Up, Sister.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter focuses a bit more on Mickey and Mandy and their dynamic and the character development I wish they had the chance to get. They are brave and kind and loyal and I love them.   
> Thank you for reading, thank you for the comments and the kudos you leave. I appreciate it all.

Mandy hovers by the office door. It is half open and she can see her brother, head bowed over a neat stacks of cash from the nights takings. She is instantly transported back through the years, watching him count the crumpled bills from the latest drug deal or gun sale, the table cluttered and almost as dirty as most of the money. Now, as then, he has a cigarette dangling from his bottom lip and another, unlit, tucked behind his ear, ready to be lit off the butt of the first. He hates dealing with money and smokes the entire way through and if it takes longer than two cigarettes, he will take a break to get a beer.

However, unlike their home in South Side, Mickey’s table here doesn’t have guns or pot or beer cans scattered across it – though Mandy knows that all of those items are in the room somewhere – but it does have a basic old laptop and a ledger which is painstakingly filled in every night with Mickey’s scruffy penmanship.

Mandy smiles, remembering when she first arrived and money was stuffed in the rickety old desk draw, the notes folded in on themselves and unorganised, the figure for each day kept only in Mickey’s head or written on the back of his hand. She’d made him buy the laptop and taught him the couple of bits she had learned from Lip about setting it up and together, with a suitable amount of cursing and more than one instance of somebody storming out, they had learned how to make a basic spreadsheet to keep track of things. Mickey had bought the ledger himself because he didn’t completely trust the laptop, a fair choice as the thing was ancient and made awful noises if it was on for more than an hour or two.

Mandy has never felt so close to her brother as she has these last eighteen months. Out of all of them, she probably had been closest to Mickey growing up, but once he was seven or eight, their father stopped any attempt at them playing together. Mickey got sent off with the other boys, Mandy was told to stay out of the damn way and they became almost strangers, strangers who occasionally got into fights and slept in the same house.

She doesn’t want to tell him what she’s done. He might be disowned and dishonoured but he is still a South Side Milkovich and Mandy knows the code that they were raised with must be etched into his very bones, just as it is hers. But not telling him is worse and she owes him the truth.

“Mickey?”

“What?”

His voice is distracted and he doesn’t look up, just keeps thumbing through the cash and occasionally jotting numbers in the ledger.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Right fucking now?”

“No, sorry, it can wait.”

Something in her voice makes him look up, his eyes flicker to the heavy backpack at her feet and he huffs an impatient breath through his nose but puts the money down.

“You goin’ somewhere?”

“Maybe. I … Mickey, I’ve done something and you’re going to be REALLY fucking pissed when I tell you, but I have to tell you and when I do, if you want me to go, I’ll go.”

She twists her hands into the hem of her shirt and raises her eyes to the ceiling, determined not to cry. Milkovich’s don’t fucking cry.

“Well that’s a little fuckin’ dramatic.”

Mickey frowns and takes a deep pull on his cigarette, letting some of the smoke curl out of his nostrils before exhaling the rest in a quick breath.

“You wanna sit down or are you just gonna stand there and make us both feel fuckin’ awkward?”

Now that he has made up his mind to listen to her, Mickey wants to get on with it but Mandy finds herself frozen to the spot. Mickey doesn’t look anything like their father, maybe they’re built a little similar, stocky and broad chested, but he looks more like their mom, or what Mandy remembers of her anyway, but all the same she is suddenly scared.

“I’m fine here.”

“Fine, suit your fucking self. What’s going on Mandy?”

She makes herself untangle her fingers from her shirt and shifts her weight onto her other leg, trying to look at ease but failing miserably. Mickey absent-mindedly rubs his top lip and then rolls his neck, easing the tense set of his shoulders. He looks at her with a sort of weary readiness, like he is expecting her to tell him there is a guy she needs him to beat up or some other problem she wants him to fix. It almost breaks Mandy’s heart because no matter what else he might be; her brother has always tried to fix things for her, even when they were irreparably broken and now he is going to hate her.

“I told someone where you are.”

“You did fucking what?”

Mickey’s eyes fly open, whatever he was expecting it wasn’t this.

“Not exactly where you are just the state we’re in.”

Mandy forces herself to keep looking at him and now that the words are out she feels a little less sick despite the dawning look of horrified fury on her brothers face.

“Are you outta your fucking mind? Jesus Christ, Mandy! Who did you tell?”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have …”

“Damned fucking right you shouldn’t have! Who the fuck did you fucking tell?”

“Mickey, I’m really sorr…”

“Stop saying you’re fucking sorry!”

Mickey flies out of the chair and slams his hand down on the desk spilling a stack of cash onto the floor but neither of them even glance at it. He starts to move around the desk, intending to pull her in and shut the damned door to stop her bolting before she has told him exactly what fucking happened, but as he moves toward her, Mandy flinches. It is a small movement but it stops him cold and with a supreme effort, Mickey reins in his temper, drawing his bottom lip inwards and biting down hard.

She’s put everything in jeopardy. His freedom, his bar, all the work and the grafting, the years of effort it’s taken to get him to a semi-legit place! If anyone else had been so fucking reckless with his life …

But it is not anyone else.

It’s his baby sister and she is scared and although a dark little part of Mickey thinks she is fucking right to be scared, he can’t stand for her to flinch away from him like that.

Mickey holds up his hands and turns away from her, giving her a little breathing space, which is hard in the cramped little office.

“Would you please come inside and shut the fuckin’ door?”

“Why? There’s no one here but us.”

She is still wary but Mandy takes a couple of steps into the room and nudges the door mostly closed.

“Mandy, you’re my sister, I might be a complete asshole but I would never hurt you. Sit your ass down and tell me what the fuck is going on.”

He snatches the cigarette from behind his ear and lights it in a smoothly aggressive motion.

“You want one?”

“Yeah.”

Mandy nods and Mickey jerks his head to the packet on the desk

“Fuckin’ take one then. I ain’t your damn maid.”

Relief courses through Mandy and she fights back a smile as she scrabbles to get a smoke out of the packet. Mickey notices how badly her fingers are trembling and a little bit of the seathing anger in his chest dissipates. Just a fucking little bit though.

“I told Ian.”

Mandy says as soon as she has the cigarette lit. Mickey’s lip curls upward incredulously and he spreads his hands in front of his chest in a gesture of complete disbelief.

“Fuckin’ … Ian Gallagher?”

“Yeah. He messaged me on Facebook and we were talking a little. He told me you hadn’t called…”

The faint note of accusation in her voice earns her a piercing blue-eyed glare as Mickey points his cigarette at her like a knife.

“Whether I call someone or not is none of your fuckin’ business and what the fuck is he doin’ messaging you anyway?”

“He was probably looking for you. He said he missed you.”

Mandy shrugs and Mickey turns away, pressing the heels of his hands to his forehead and trying to think.

“I don’t give a shit if he was tryin’ to find fuckin’ Jesus Christ himself. He should fuckin’ know better than to contact you like that.”

His words are sharp and dismissive but Mickey is feeling a little calmer, he fucking shouldn’t be but he is. Of all the people Mandy could have blabbed to, Ian was probably the least disastrous. If it had been one of his brother’s or worse, their father, then he would probably have been fucked.

“So you told him you were with me?”

“Not in so many words. Kinda. I just said ‘Tamaulipas’.”

“What did he say back?”

“He said ‘Thank you’ then a little bit later, he said ‘Where?’ I didn’t reply.”

“Good. Don’t.”

Mickey nods and sits on the edge of his desk, staring silently into the middle distance. Mandy watches him until her cigarette is burnt down to the filter and then crushes it beneath her sneaker heel.

“What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing.”

Mickey shakes his head slowly as if waking up from a dream and Mandy desperately wants to throw her arms around his neck and hold him close, but she knows better. He might not have completely lost his shit but he’s wound up tight and she is most definitely on his shit-list.

“I think he’ll probably find us, if he tries. I mean, it’s spelt wrong but the name of the bar …”

“Yeah.”

Mickey cuts her off. He named it ‘Galager’s’ specifically so that if Ian had ever looked for him, really looked for him, he might find him.

It was a sort of private thing between them, the stupid tattoo that Mickey gave himself when he was doped up to his eyeballs on some shit that he’d managed to score in prison and it had been a crappy fucking attempt. He blamed it on the drugs, whatever the fuck they were but he had managed to spell it wrong. When he showed Ian, during that awful last visit, it had been the only thing to make him smile, the only thing that had brought even a little light to the red-heads eyes. Galager.

“Mickey?”

“What?”

His tone is harsher than he meant it to be and Mandy winces slightly but pushes on anyway

“Do you want me to leave? I know you don’t want me to say ‘sorry’ again…”

“No, I fuckin’ don’t! And I don’t want you to leave either.”

“Really?”

The word comes out a little breathless and Mickey hates that she is surprised that she can be forgiven but then forgiveness was not a word often heard in their house growing up. To forgive was weakness and a sign of being a faggot. Mickey snorts to himself and thinks: *Well Pops, guess fuckin’ what!*

“Yeah really. Don’t fuckin’ be so stupid again though. I don’t care who it is.”

“I won’t. I swear it was just … Mickey, you and Ian … You should …”

“Hey,”

He holds up a hand and shakes he head again, firmly this time

“Don’t fuckin’ push it. My business is my business Mandy. If I wanted to talk to Ian I would have called him my fuckin’ self.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I didn’t know what the fuck I would say.”

Mickey’s honesty surprises her a little but she tries not to let it show.

“Well, you know Ian. He’s like a dog with a fucking bone. You should probably try and think of something. Soon.”

She smiles a little and Mickey’s own lip quirks ever so slightly in response.

“Yeah.”

Mandy stands up and shoulders her bag, knowing she needs to leave him be but before she leaves the room, she quickly ducks down, sweeping her hair out of the way and kisses Mickey’s cheek.

“Thank you, big brother.”

Before he can say anything back, Mandy is out of the room, her footsteps pounding the stairs to her room.

Mickey touches the damp spot on his cheek and his nose twitches, an old tic that still surfaces when he is uncomfortable or embarrassed.

“You’re welcome.”

He mutters and bends down to pick up the bank notes he knocked on the floor, stacks the money as best he can on the desk. His eyes are stinging and he thinks he might cry. Mickey purses his lips and fights it back.

He looks at the stacks of money on the table and his lip twitches again. Then, promising himself it is just for tonight, Mickey pulls out his desk draw and sweeps the whole fucking lot into it and slams it shut. Ian did not fall in love with some weak little bitch and he sure as fuck ain’t gonna find one in Mexico.

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Mickey smiles. His body is tingling from the adrenaline and his skin feels tight but in a really fucking good way. He knows what he needs.

He leaves the office, heads into the deserted bar and crosses to the jukebox. Only one song will fucking do: DMX – X Gon’ Give It To Ya, Mickey slaps the button and the room is filled with the sound of dogs growling.

He pours himself a shot of whisky. He downs it in one and the shock of the alcohol makes him bare his teeth in a satisfied grimace. There is an old scaffold poll above the bar walkway and Mickey take a running jump at it, wrapping his fingers around the cold metal and hauling himself upwards. He hasn’t kept up his pull-up routine but his chin clears the bar and he lowers himself, biting his lip as his muscles strain against the fabric of his shirt.

He begins to sweat, salt rolling from his forehead, dripping from his chin and Mickey clenches his ass to give him the final boost he needs on his fifth pull. He does five more, determined to get to ten and drops down with a pleased grunt, dusting his hands off on his shirt. He pours another drink and realises that Mandy is watching him from the doorway.

“The fuck you looking at?”

He grins and she returns his smile, tucking her hair behind her ear and swaying into the room, pumping her hands in time with the song, bobbing and weaving toward her brother with pout.

“A fuckin’ gangsta apparently.”

Mickey lets out a small laugh before pushing his own lips out in what Mandy calls ‘duck-face’ and dipping low, bouncing lightly from left to right as his arms cross back and forth and then pumps them up to the ceiling.

He isn’t a natural dancer like Mandy is but what he lacks in grace Mickey makes up for in sheer fucking attitude and when Mandy presses her back flush to his front he surprises both of them by grinding down to the floor with her.

“Fuck yeah! You got some moves, man!”

Mandy claps and punches his shoulder in admiration

“Oh! Did you think you’re the only one with fuckin’ hips, bitch? Anything you can do …”

Mickey’s eyebrows raise in challenge and Mandy holds an index finger up to his face.

“Watch this, fuckface.”

She shimmies over to the duke box and selects a song of her own. Do It Like A Dude – Jessie J. Mandy turns back and runs at Mickey, jumping and gripping the scaffold poll with her palms just before she reaches him.

“Oh yeah?”

Mickey lines up two more drinks and stands back to watch as Mandy pulls herself up, once, twice, three times …

“Think you’re the only one with guns, asshole?”

Mandy grunts and lets go with her left hand, for a moment she dangles and then her right arm begins to flex and she is lifting herself in a one armed pull up.

“The fuck?!”

Mickey’s mouth is hanging open in an awed ‘O’ of surprise. Mandy lets go and lands neatly, cocking her head at him, tongue poking between her teeth.

“God damn!”

Mickey mimes taking his hat off and claps as Mandy bows. She goes to take one of the shots and Mickey pushes both toward her

“Nah! Both of these are for you. You fuckin’ earned ‘em!”

Mandy’s arm is aching like a bitch and she really wants to roll her shoulder but she pushes the urge away, having her brother in absolute awe is so much sweeter.

“Wanna play pool, drink the Top Shelf stock and fuck ourselves up South Side style?”

She asks, leaning back against the bar. Mickey nods and pulls a crumpled joint out of his back pocket.

“Hell yes I do. Wrack ‘em up.”

They play pool, they drink and they dance. They let off steam and the celebrate being alive. They party together until the first red tendrils of dawn light creep through the windows and then Mandy fries up some bacon and they wander down to the shore, hammered and happy and eat quietly together as the gulls circle overhead.

In Chicago a plane takes off and many hopes and dreams soar upwards with it.


	9. Love Endures.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see Ian make the peace he needs in order to move forward and embrace everything he is walking back to. 
> 
> I've tried to be respectful of Ian's distancing himself in the show and the attitudes he exhibited there and I have tried to show his doubts and concerns about what Mexico might mean and how he might come to terms with his feelings. 
> 
> This chapter finishes that part of the story. From here on out, Ian's solo angst is done. Roll on Gallavich!!! 
> 
> FYI this chapter is NSFW.

Ian sleeps for most of the five-hour flight. It annoys him in a way, just how much he can sleep on the meds. It’s better than barely sleeping at all and his mind is clearer than when he is manic but as he washes his morning pills down with weak airline tea, he wonders if he’ll be able to cope without his routine.

He is happy to be doing this, he thinks it is the right thing to do, but there is a small part of him that is really worried about it too.

Is this normal behaviour?

Is he acting too impulsively?

Does his medication need adjusting?

Is he on the verge of an episode?

Theses are all questions that Ian wishes he didn’t think of but they come to him unbidden and anxiety curls in his gut making him feel a little sick.

His plane touches down in Brownsville just as the noon heat is at its fiercest and it hits him like a wave. It’s only June but already the sky is heavy and the air is thick. Ian feels a momentary panic, tucking his chin onto his chest and pushing through toward the arrivals gate, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Security barely glance at his passport before waving him through and Ian nods a brief thanks. He needs to eat something but the airport is crowded, filled with happy reunions and teary farewells and he wants to get out and fill his lungs with air that doesn’t smell of strangers.

There is a hotdog cart a few meters from the exit and Ian makes his way over to it, grateful for the sense of normality the polite exchange brings. His heart rate begins to slow as he sits down on a bench and eats the dog in small, measured bites, savouring the taste of meat and tangy ketchup.

He strips off his hoodie and stuffs it into his bag, goes back to the cart and buys three bottles of water. He has a vague plan but no idea how to action it. The hotdog guy is looking at him in amusement and Ian realises he has been frowning at the cart, completely lost in his thoughts.

“Tough day, son?”

“Nah. Just tired.”

Ian smiles and the guy shrugs as if to say tiredness is just life.

“Someone coming to pick ya up?”

“No. I’m alone. Er … Do you know if there are any used car lots around here? I need to buy a vehicle.”

Hotdog guys grins and Ian notices he is missing half of one of his incisors

“Takin’ a trip Mexican side?”

Ian nods and gets that same broken toothed smile in response.

“Yeah, ya look like a man ready for an adventure. Just take the 88 bus into the city – you’ll find plenty of cars that’ll do ya.”

Ian thanks him and heads to the bus depot. His footsteps feel a little lighter now and the uncertainty is wavering. It’s funny how knowing that he looks the part has calmed his nerves a bit.

Then again, Ian has always been drawn to uniform and costume. First, the army, then dancing in the club, EMT – all of it involved putting on an outfit to become something he felt he needed to be. If the pale green vest, crumpled jeans and well-worn boots make him look like an adventurer then fine, that is what he will be.

*

He starts to nod off again on the bus but forces himself to stay awake and watches the Texan skyline rush by, taking in the vibrant colours of the landscape. He keeps his bag on the seat next to him until an elderly lady asks if she can sit down and Ian obligingly shifts it onto his lap.

They share a smile but sit in silence for a few minutes before she rifles through her purse and comes up with a bag of miniature snickers bars.

“Do you want a candy?”

“Thank you ma’am.”

Ian smiles and takes one, they always make him think of Mickey and Ian is starting to try and embrace thoughts of Mickey whenever they surface rather than burying them. It feels a bit like trying to re-learn how to have feelings and it makes him dizzy sometimes with the intense emotions a small memory or thought can bring him but he is persevering. Trying not to be afraid of feeling too much.

“Are you here for a holiday?”

The old lady is squinting up at him

“Yeah sort of I guess. I’m going to see an old friend.”

“You’re not old enough to have ‘old friends’ yet.”

She laughs, her sun hat wobbling on her tight blond perm precariously and Ian finds himself laughing with her.

“Does he know you’re coming or is it a surprise?”

“Well I told his sister but she might not tell him. To be honest, he might not even be that glad to see me.”

Ian shrugs and scrunches the wrapper in his hand. He doesn’t know why he’s telling her this but she seems happy enough to listen and is nodding along as if she knows the whole story.

“Well, you’re here and that’s what counts. You sound like you’re from Mid-way. Maybe Illinois?”

“Yeah, Chicago. How’d you know?”

Ian asks, smiling, and she sits back, looking pleased

“Thought so. I have a good ear for accents. Anyway, that’s no small way to come to see somebody, you must really want to see him. He’ll appreciate that much I’m sure.”

“I do want to see him. I … I left things a bit abruptly last time. He wanted me to come on a journey and I didn’t want to go. I thought I could but …”

Ian breaks off realising he might be saying too much, he is trying to get the balance right between saying nothing and everything just rushing out, but she simply places a tanned, wrinkled hand over his and nods.

“We all have to do the best we can in any situation. What’s his name?”

Ian hesitates. For one paranoid moment he wonders if the Feds have tracked him this whole way and this old lady, who hasn’t even asked his name yet, is some sort of plant. But he knows that is stupid. Mickey imust be pretty damn low on the list of US fugitives that the government actually care about getting back. He takes a deep breath and savours the name as it glides over his lips.

“Mickey.”

“Ah. Michael. A good, strong name. ‘Who is like God? No one.’ God knows all and he forgives all. People can’t forgive all, not in our nature, but we can forgive some. That’s something to be glad for.”

Ian doesn’t really know what she is talking about but she’s sweet and she’s being really kind to him and that alone makes him smile and nod in agreement.

“I’m Cynthia by the way.”

“Ian.”

They shake hands and Cynthia puffs her cheeks out and laughs

“That’s a pretty good grip but then you’re a big boy aren’t you? Red hair too! Viking blood!”

Ian grins bashfully and she tilts her head to the side to look at him.

“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question, Ian?”

“No ma’am.”

“It’s Cynthia, honey. Now the question I want to ask is this: Are you one of the Gays?”

Ian coughs, splutters and stares at her wide-eyed and she pats his leg, taking his choking for an affirmative answer.

“My grandson is one of your kind. Never bothered me. I know all what the bible says but you ask me that was a long time ago and things change. Love is love, right? Well, my Jason, he’s a sweet boy and I don’t think who he loves or what he likes should matter.”

She unwraps another snickers bar and takes a bite, shrugging frail shoulders.

“You didn’t mind him being gay?”

Ian is genuinely curious.

“I wasn’t thrilled but what does it matter? Gay, Queer, Lesbian … I don’t know all the other ones but whatever. People are people.”

Ian nods and leans back against the headrest. Cynthia seems happy to talk and he is happy to listen.

“So, your Michael, is he a gay too?”

“Yeah. We used to date … it was … I loved him but I couldn’t be with him at the time. He had to leave and I let him go. I wish I hadn’t.”

Ian smiles sadly and Cynthia makes a sympathetic noise

“Did he love you back?”

“Yeah. Yeah he really did.”

Ian presses his lips together, the familiar guilt surfaces but he tries to embrace that too. He can’t hide from it forever.

“Do you think you both might try again?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I can be stable enough for that. I’m not sure he can be. We’re both sort of loners.”

Ian glances out of the window and takes in the sight of the highway stretching out before them, seemingly to infinity. He hasn’t really evaluated that concern but it has been lurking in his mind since he boarded the plane.

“Well you’ve come a heck of a long way to not know! Time to make up your mind, honey!”

“He’s complicated … I’m complicated …”

“Oh jeez! Listen, everyone is complicated. Even the most simple soul you could meet is complicated in their own way. You have to get over it, Ian! Have a little spunk!”

Ian grins at the gentle scolding and turns back to look at Cynthia properly

“You seem pretty certain about this! Do you know something I don’t, Cynthia?”

His tone is joking and his new friend laughs, something Ian realises she does very easily.

“A hundred things I reckon, what with me being so much older, but this is the important one: Love is not flight, Ian. It doesn’t need constant attention. Relationships and sex? They need work, but love? It endures, honey. If it was there once, the chances are it is there still. My Jason just went to New York to get married and let me tell you, they looked the happiest couple I ever saw and he would probably be called a bit of a loner too.”

Cynthia sighs happily and Ian knows just for a second she is no longer seeing him.

“I’m sure it was a beautiful wedding.”

“Oh it was! You people have excellent taste.”

Cynthia shakes her head in admiration and presses the bell, signalling her stop is coming up. Ian grins to himself. He really likes Cynthia.

“I sat next to you cause you look like my Jason, but hang-dog and low, too much so for a young person. I thought ‘there is a young man with an aching heart’ so why not try to ease it? Did I ease it, honey?”

“Yeah, you did. Thank you Cynthia.”

“Well that’s just fine. Remember: Love endures. Good luck to you. I hope you and Michael work it out.”

Ian watches her get off the bus and for a moment he feels an insane urge to follow her, to beg her to tell him what to do but that is always his problem, he wants a concrete answer to everything.

Everything has always had to be black or white for Ian, and then the bipolar hit and suddenly everything was grey and Ian couldn’t deal with it. He has learned to live in the grey but he misses the bright colours that Mickey brought to his world.

He waves to Cynthia until the bus turns the corner and then sits back in his seat and closes his eyes, once again alone.

*

Once he gets off the bus, he checks into a cheap hotel and lies down on the bed, not even bothering to shower.

He can only have been asleep for fifteen minutes but he dreams vividly. He dreams of being in an open-top car speeding down a stretch of Texan highway. He is sticking his arm out into the rushing air, feeling it batter his fingers and it feels like he could physically grip it if he wanted to but he keeps his palm open. His hair is flying backwards and he is happy. He is so happy. He turns to his left and Mickey is beside him in the driving seat, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“You really here with me?”

“Where else would I fuckin’ be?”

Ian sees the glimmer of steel through the frayed leather of Mickey’s boot caps as his foot presses down flooring the accelerator.

“Why are we going so fast?”

“Because it’s how you like it, Firecrotch. How the fuck else do I keep up with you?”

Ian can actually see the smile in his voice, it is a golden shimmer over the surface of the road and he closes his eyes unable to bear the beauty of it.

“I didn’t mean to make you go faster than you wanted.”

“Who the fuck are you to tell me what I wanted?”

Ian opens his eyes and stares at the pale, tattooed fingers gripping the wheel, letting his eyes travel upwards, taking in the fine smattering of black hair on Mickey’s wrist and forearms, the way his shirt ripples against his body in the wind. His sunglasses are gone and as Ian looks up, his eyes meet Ian’s own, so blue that Ian could almost believe Mickey has his own sky within him and he wonders just how many stars such a sky would contain and if he will ever get the chance to count them.

He scooches closers, his knee nudging the stick-shift as he leans forward and pushes his fingers through the thick, black waves of Mickey’s hair. It feels like roped silk and Ian brings his fingertips back to his nose, inhaling Mickey’s smell deeply.

“I miss you. I miss you so much, Mick.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything but one hand leaves the steering wheel and he reaches for Ian, slipping his fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans. His hand is hot and dry and Ian leans backwards, his head hanging over the side of the car, blinded by the sun and deafened by the wind, completely at Mickey’s mercy.

The intensity builds and the urgent stroking of the fingers in his pants sends bright dots skittering across Ian’s closed eyelids, gathering together in prisms of crimson, green, blue and black.

“You’re mine, Ian. You know that?”

“I know.”

Those words are not a part of this dream. They are a memory. A memory of a hot, summer afternoon in Illinois, the sweat rolling from their naked bodies as they lie in Mickey’s crumpled bedsheets, limbs tangled together and the air is fragrant with the scent of lust.

Ian’s breath is heavy, his mouth is gaping open, he can’t open his eyes because his lover holds every nerve in his body captive. He remembers a soft kiss from full smiling lips and the sweep of a firm tongue, round and round, lapping gently and taking in the salty pearls which are forming before they can spill onto the sheets..

The hand around him clenches and speeds up, forcing him toward the edge of oblivion.

“Tell me, Gallagher. Say it to me.”

Mickey’s voice is softer, the timbre richer and deeper, than normal and hearing it is like sinking into a bath laced with sweet oils, and fresh sweat prickles Ian’s skin.

The fingers shift a little higher and Ian arches his back further, with a cry that is almost pained, exposing the delicate skin of his throat, the words wrenching forth like sand dragged across rough pebbles, scratching away fear and self-doubt leaving only a bare truth behind them

“I’m yours! I’m yours, Mickey!”

“Damn right you are.”

Ian’s body convulses in an ecstatic shudder and he wakes up.

*

He wipes his hand on his pant leg briefly and then lies completely still. His heart beat slows back to its normal rhythm but still he doesn’t move.

He thinks of Mickey.

He is in a hotel room in Texas, he is going to cross the border and finally, he understands exactly what that means. The second chance it gives him.

Ian is completely calm and yet his skin is tingling and his stomach is fluttering. Something has shifted within him. It feels as if his very soul has changed, softened maybe, he doesn’t know.

The fine line between sanity and delirium is blurring in a way that has nothing to do with his condition. It is fierce, courageous, and passionate. It is joyful.

It is a feeling he thought might have been killed forever by his illness and the medications to control it.

He thinks of Mickey.

He thinks of strong fingers laced with his own in the quiet of the night.

He thinks of morning coffee and shared clothing.

He thinks of breathless stuggles, wrestling bodies and loud, raucous laughter.

He thinks of a bar called ‘Galagers’

A slow, sweet smile spreads across his face as finally, the truth of Cynthia’s words really hit him.

Love endures.


	10. Hey.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all my thanks to Jackie for her continued encouragement, kindness and good humour. You rock! :-*  
> xxx

Within two days, Ian arrives in La Pesca. According to Google maps, he is a five-minute drive from ‘Galagers’ but Ian wants to see Mickey’s new home before he gets there. He wants to feel it in the way Mickey must have done when he arrived. He parks the rusty old station wagon he bought near the border and shoulders his backpack.

Ian buys a bottle of iced tea from one of the little shops that line the main street and sips it as he walks, taking in as much as he can.

Some of the buildings are run down and a little shabby but the main stretch of road is framed with wide fanned palm trees and the ocean glimmers through the gaps between houses and storefronts. Cats laze on high garden walls, ears twitching toward the distant sound of gulls circling the shore.

It is a place of nooks and crannies, twisting alleyways and all of them leading eventually to the ocean vista or back to the endless highway. Ian can see why Mickey chose to settle here. The town offers the joint promises of secrecy and freedom. It is at once beautiful and humble and the people offer Ian shy smiles but otherwise mind their own business.

There are enough white Americans around that he doesn’t stick out too much and Ian smiles at a family, clearly on vacation, walking along with ice-creams. He walks past a barbers and pauses mid-stride. He wants to look as presentable as possible but the thought of getting a special haircut makes him feel self-conscious. He quickly checks Facebook but there have been no new messages. He isn’t surprised at all, Mandy had taken a massive risk telling him as much as she did and Ian knows she won’t give him anything further.

He drums his fingers against the leg of his pants and makes a decision.

When the cut is finished Ian declines the offered hair pomade, instead running his fingers through the top lengths and pushing them to their familiar position, sweeping gently back from his forehead. The close trim at the back feels softly bristly and he remembers how Mickey used to stroke those short, neat hairs over and over again with his knuckles as they drifted toward sleep, his rhythm never altering until his hands would gradually still and his breathing deepen. Ian barely slept at the time and he remembered it clearly, the way Mickey’s chest would rise and fall beneath Ian’s cheek until he would gently detach himself and roll Mickey onto his side, curling protectively around his body.

“Gracias.”

Ian smiles and leaves a generous tip. He checks his phone on the sidewalk and sees that he is now only a five-minute walk away. Straight ahead, then left, then straight along the beach strip for two minutes. He buys a baseball cap from the shop next to the barber to shield his face from the sun. Adrenaline is pumping through his body and his hands feel jittery but he will not delay any further. He starts walking again.

*

Ian has never stood on a proper beach before and for a moment; the sheer magnificence of it stops him in his tracks. The beach is the sort with pale, white sand stretching for miles in either direction and the ocean is more shades of blue than Ian even knew existed and the sun reflects off the surface in glittering ripples. Ian draws the fresh, salty-air deep into his lungs, releasing it with utter relish, lifting his face to the sky and letting the sound of the water fill his mind.

“Damn.”

He breathes admiringly, to no one but himself and turns back toward his destination.

*

The bar is a little way past the ice-cream shack and the wave-board place, it is clearly old and the pale blue paint is peeling off the brickwork in places but it looks solid and dependable, like time has tested it and the building is winning.

The front is styled more like the modern places further back down the strip, it has a simple wooden porch that is dusted with white sand and a rustic looking sign that says ‘Galagers’ in bold, curved letters, written in bright orange paint with a neatly painted duo of beer bottles in the top right corner. Ian can imagine Mandy nagging until Mickey finally gives in and agrees to let her make him a sign, standing back, arms folded, with that ‘half-irritated but not really’ frown on his face as she painted it. He can see Mandy smiling shyly as she steps away to let him see and the grudging nod and flick of his eyebrows as Mickey concedes that ‘yeah, that’s fine.’.

The door is wide open and he can hear glasses clinking inside as someone (as Mickey Ian thinks with a jolt) sets up for the night ahead. Ian’s heart is pounding so hard in his chest that he is worried he’ll faint or something if he moves too quickly so he forces himself to walk slowly up the steps. There is a squat barrel serving as a table and a couple of deckchairs on the porch and beside one of them is a small bottle of tequila, a battered pair of black leather sandals and, of course, a lighter and packet of smokes.

Ian almost can’t stand to go in. He realises that if he leaves now, if he turns around and leaves right now, then he can do so happy.

Mickey made it.

He made it out of Southside.

He made it out from beneath his father’s vicious shadow.

He made it to his beach, and he has his sandals and tequila.

He did everything he said he was going to do and Ian knows instinctively that Mickey is happy here.

What more can Ian possibly offer than that?

Ian hovers in the agony of indecision, he is clenching his fists so hard that his short nails are pressing harsh lines into his palm and his arms are trembling. He takes a step closer and tries to see into the dimly lit room, the sound of glasses replaced with the sound of beer-pipes being flushed. He catches a glimpse of black hair ducking down behind the bar to pick something up off the floor and his breath catches, strangling the greeting that rises in his throat.

It’s now or never.

Ian closes his eyes and puts a steadying hand on the warm wood of the door, steeling himself.

“Hey buddy, we don’t open til four.”

Ian spins on his heel, completely caught off guard.

Mickey is squinting up at him from the beach, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the brightness of the sky but as Ian turns, his eyes shoot open in recognition and his hard expression of wary distrust shifts to the most brilliant smile Ian has ever seen.

“Hey Mickey.”

It is not what Ian had planned to say but it is all he can manage.

“Hey.”

It is such a small word but when it falls from Mickey’s lips, it contains so much, almost too much to bear, and it breaks through the last of the defences Ian has built around his heart. 

He doesn’t remember moving but suddenly he is down the steps and Mickey is in his arms and he can feel Mickey’s splayed hands clutching his back as tightly as Ian is grasping fistfuls of Mickey’s shirt. Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck. His hair is wet and somewhere at the back of Ian’s mind, he realises that he can taste the ocean on Mickey’s skin.

Mickey is gripping the back of Ian’s neck, holding him close, he is mumbling something, but Ian can’t quite make it out. He feels Mickey’s fingertips graze over the soft, red bristles at the back of his head and Ian brings his own fingers up to trace the curve of Mickey’s jaw, squeezing his eyes shut tight, seeing through touch.

He is extremely aware of Mickey’s lips, mere inches from his own. He begins to turn his head and as their eyes meet, he feels Mickey tremble, ever so slightly.

“Mick…”

Ian whispers his name softly but the small sound shifts something between them and Ian senses the exact moment Mickey comes back to himself. The arms around Ian stiffen and he is being pushed upright, it is a calm urging, softer than most people would think Mickey Milkovich capable of, but it is insistent and Ian reluctantly lets go despite the hollow feeling he gets in his chest from doing so.

“It’s good to see you, man.”

Mickey sounds wiped out as he hastily rubs beneath his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He steps back a couple of paces, chest heaving with staggered breaths. Ian tries to bridge the distance Mickey has put between them, wanting to be closer but Mickey is maintaining his space now and Ian forces himself to stand still, quickly dashing the heels of his hands beneath his own eyes.

“It’s great to see you! This place Mickey … Wow! You really made it out here.”

Ian gestures around them, beaming, he wants so badly for Mickey to see how proud he is of him. Mickey thumbs his lip as a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, no, I mean it’s not the fuckin’ Alibi, that’s something!”

Mickey’s smile is sweet and a little shy and Ian cocks his head to the side appraising him playfully

“You look good with a tan.”

“Yeah? I got fuckin’ freckles on my shoulders though. They look like yours …”

Mickey bites the words off, pressing his lips into a thin line. Ian grins and shrugs

“Well I’ve got a week. Pretty sure mine will look worse by the end of it.”

Mickey blinks at him, his smile suddenly gone. Ian doesn’t know what he’s said wrong and Mickey doesn’t seem about to tell him, he just snorts and shrugs.

“A week, huh? Well whatever man. You might wanna buy sunblock or something.”

“Yeah I should.”

Ian agrees, grinning. Mickey doesn’t say anything further, he is looking around as if he has lost something and isn’t sure where to begin searching, looking anywhere except Ian. A sort of sickly panic is fluttering around in Ian’s chest. All of the tenderness of the previous minute is gone and he has no idea why.

It’s almost as if Mickey is pissed that he is going to be here a whole week. Disappointment stabs sharply beneath Ian’s ribs. He had almost imagined that he would fly home in a week to hand in his notice at work and sort out storage for his things but of course that was stupid! Mickey has his own life and it looked like a damn good one! Ian had no right to presume that he still automatically has any real place in it.

The silence between them becomes awkward and finally Mickey jerks his head toward the bar almost aggressively. 

“You seen Mandy yet?”

“No I wanted …”

“MANDY! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!”

Mickey cuts him off with a yell and stares resolutely at the bar doorway, no longer even looking at Ian.

A couple more seconds pass and then Mandy appears. She looks ready to be pissed at the nature of her summons but then she sees Ian stood beside her brother and she screams, sprinting down the steps and launching herself at him.

Ian catches her with a happy laugh as she locks her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly and kissing his cheek fiercely.

“When did you get here?”

“About an hour ago, I had a walk around to see the place and then I came straight here.”

Ian tries to look at Mickey when he says this but Mandy’s hair is lifting in the breeze, blocking him from view. She pulls back finally but doesn’t relinquish her grip on his arms. She looks happier and healthier than Ian has ever seen her. She cocks her head to the side and scrunches her nose giving him a sweet smile.

“God! You look so great! You must be tired though. You want something to eat or a beer?”

“Oh … I mean, yeah sure. I …”

Ian trails off, glancing at Mickey, who looks away quickly, his nose twitching a couple of times and his hands flexing slightly like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. Ian wonders if they are still tingling from their embrace, if Mickey is still feeling the warm touch of skin against his fingertips because Ian sure as Hell is and it is making it damn near impossible to concentrate on anything Mandy is saying.

Mickey looks back and finds Ian still watching him. The expression that flits across his face is almost pained before the old mask of indifference slams into place, locking everyone out and everything he feels inside of himself.

“Yeah. You must be hungry too. Mandy can you get him something from the kitchen – whatever he wants. I gotta run some errands.”

Mandy gives her brother a puzzled look

“What the fuck have you got to do?”

“I gotta buy … ice.”

Mickey snaps, the warning clear in his voice, but Mandy simply gives him a bored look and points at the bar.

“We have shit tons of ice in there, Mickey.”

“I have to buy fuckin’ lemons then! What does it matter? Take Ian inside set him up with some food and I’ll be back soon. Jesus Christ!”

“You’re being fuckin’ rude.”

“He doesn’t mind me leaving for an hour. It’s been nearly five fuckin’ years, and we have a whole fucking week to catch up, so what difference is one more hour?”

Mickey’s focus snaps back to Ian, almost daring him to contradict this and Ian stays very wisely silent. Mandy looks ready to thump him but Mickey’s entire body is thrumming with tension and it is obvious he needs to get away for a bit.

Ian feels a twinge of hurt but pushes it away.

“It’s cool, I’m pretty tired. Maybe tonight we can …”

“Yeah. Tonight. Good.”

Mickey cuts across him shooting each word like a bullet and takes the steps to the bar two at a time, grabbing his smokes and sandals, then doubling back past them, heading towards town, keeping his eyes stubbornly forward.

“What the fuck is wrong with him?”

Mandy scowls at her brothers retreating back but there is no heat to her words and Ian knows she is only acting outraged for his benefit.

Ian watches Mickey walk away and it takes all of his willpower not to chase after him and blurt out everything he feels and everything he wants so badly to explain. He can feel the words bubbling inside him, desperate for release but he forces his feet to remain still.

“Hey, c’mon, I’ll make you some eggs.”

Mandy tugs his arm gently, her expression one of sympathetic understanding.

“Thanks.”

Ian sighs, pushing his hand anxiously through his hair.

“Mandy?”

“Yeah?”

“It is really good to see you.”

“You too.”

She gives him another slightly scrunched smile and links her arm through his, pulling him along with her into their home.


	11. Game changer.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because Gallavich love is not as simple as clinging to each other on a beach, no matter how much easier that would be.

Mickey is a fucking typhoon tearing at the otherwise tranquil beach. He wishes there were stones so that he could hurl them into the sea and watch them sink but he settles for fistfuls of wet sand.

“Fuck you, Gallagher! A fucking week? One week? Fuck you!”

The force of his throw almost unbalances him and he glares at the beach beneath his feet before stamping on it as if it owes him a significant amount of money and just insulted his mother.

His breath is coming in gasping husks, his hair has flopped into his face and he pushes is back angrily as he takes a running kick at the rolling waves, pretending it is Ian Gallagher’s ribs.

The salt spray gets in his eyes and up his nose and he ignores it, letting both stream and to Hell with it.

One fucking week!

He can still feel the press of Ian’s fingers against his back, it’s like the prints are seared into his skin and Mickey rolls his shoulders uncomfortably. He scrubs his hands over his face, hard enough to leave blotchy red patches across his cheekbones but he can still tell the exact spot that Ian’s thumb has caressed.

Mickey is not the sort of person who would scream at the horizon but he almost wishes that he was. Ian has been back in his life for less than thirty minutes and Mickey has been displaced from his bar and is roaming the beach, dirty, dishevelled and with snot on his upper lip and salt in his eyes.

An hour ago he was swimming in the sea, contentedly working on holding his breath beneath the waves and wondering if he should change supplier for bar snacks to shake things up a bit.

Fucking Gallagher!

Mickey laces his fingers across the back of his head and forces himself to take some deep breaths, feet planted in a wide, fighters stance. The ocean stretches out before him, no different for the amount of his rage it has just consumed, and Mickey lets his head loll gently forward, until his chin touches his chest. More than anything he wishes that a large, warm hand would settle on the exposed skin of his neck.

This isn’t who Mickey is supposed to be. He isn’t supposed to crave another’s touch so badly that the lack of it is a constant ache in his guts. Jesus. One week? How was he supposed to tell Ian everything he wanted to say in just one week? It took him months sometimes to feel ready to say what was in his heart, and that wasn’t just him being tooty-fuckin’-fruity! Mickey genuinely struggled with exposing his emotions even after all this time. He had started to get pretty good at it when he and Ian were a couple but over the years he had fallen out of practice again and … shit!

One week. Mickey huffs a weary sigh and reverses the direction of his head, tipping his face skyward. How was he going to make Ian see the man he has become? Make him see that maybe Mickey is exactly who Ian wanted him to be back then and that maybe Mickey’s second chance could become their second chance?

Mickey wishes he had been brave enough to kiss Ian. He should have done that rather than pushing him away, no matter how gently he’d done it. It had just been too much.

Mickey lets a small smile curve his lip at the memory of Ian on the steps, looking down at him like he was the best thing he had ever seen. The way the idiot had nearly broken his neck tripping down the steps and staggering across the sand to throw himself on Mickey … that moment was going to stay with Mickey until the day he died. Ian’s arms coming around him and the immediate, all consuming joy his touch brought … the way Ian buried his face in the curve of Mickey’s neck… that alone had nearly been the complete undoing of Mickey Milkovich but when Ian turned his head and those eyes, those damn perfect green eyes, blinked and looked into his, so close that Mickey could count the auburn lashes … it was too much.

Mickey didn’t trust himself not to throw Ian down on the beach and let the redhead take him right there in the open. One touch of those full lips and he knew he’d have been completely lost. He would have lost all control and he just wasn’t ready for that, not yet. For Mickey, where there was no control there could be no safety and he needed to feel safe in order to even begin to get the words straight in his head.

What he had done instead was something that was so typical of himself that he doesn’t even bother feeling bad or guilty, it would be like a dog feeling shitty for cocking its leg. What else does it know to do? Mickey had made a fucking scene, nearly got into a full on sibling-scuffle with Mandy and stomped off with a pack of smokes and a thunder cloud of temper in the air around him. 

Like most storms, the atmosphere afterwards is clear and fresh and Mickey snorts at the memory. ‘Fuckin’ lemons then’ what a stupid damn excuse to make. But that’s him when Gallagher is around: stupid and tongue tied and more emotional than is healthy for anyone around him.

He wonders if he should actually buy some lemons to save face and can’t decide if the actual physical manifestation the product he claimed to need makes him look more or less ridiculous. There is an entire fucking basket of lemons in plain view behind the bar. It’s a lost cause. Mickey hasn’t even touched the cigarettes in his pocket and doesn’t feel like doing so now. He wishes he’d picked up a hair comb instead but there is nothing to do about that. He walks into the sea up to his knees and splashes water over his face and arms and drags his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it a little. He wishes he’d got a haircut.

One week. Fine. Mickey has worked with less.

He wades back onto the shore and heads back to Galagers.

*

Mandy and Ian slip into their friendship as easily as ever, the years melting away and by the time Mickey steps into the bar they have caught up and are sat on the corner booth sofa, chatting happily about the town, the bar and Mickey himself.

“Seriously, this place was a shit-hole when Mickey bought it, the owner was dumb as fuck and practically begged Mick to take it from him.”

“It looks awesome! Was the jukebox here when Mickey bought it?”

“No, he bought that himself. He’s done a fucking amazing job here, Ian. I never knew anyone in our shitty family could work so hard at something that wasn’t on a rap-sheet. It’s kind of inspiring actually. Like, I know he’s my brother but I’m really fucking proud of him.”

“I always knew he could do something like this, you know? Even with the furniture scam back home, he always found a way to handle the business well. He’s so much smarter than he thinks he is.”

“You assholes talkin’ about me?”

Mickey covers up the pleased smirk with a scowl and slaps his smokes down on the bar as he pushes up, half laying over it to grab a bottle of coke. Maybe he exaggerates the movement a little, he probably doesn’t need to lift his ass quite so high or arch his back quite so much but so what?

He slides back and is gratified to see Ian’s eyes are like saucers and there are two high spots of colour burning in his cheeks. One fucking week, bitch.

*

Ian feels his blood flow shift rapidly south as Mickey pulls himself onto the gleaming surface of the bar and his foot begins to bounce up and down restlessly. He tries not to stare but it’s impossible not to with Mickey lying prone like that. Ian instantly imagines how it would feel to grab the scruff of Mickey’s neck with one hand and wrench his shorts off with the other. He doubts Mickey is wearing boxers beneath them, the fabric is damp and clinging and there is no outline that would suggest further layers.

He is so lost in his thoughts of Mickey bared beneath him that his fingers are half-way to his mouth, ready to slick them when Mickey drops back to the floor with his coke. Ian drops his hand back into his lap like a stone, his face flushing and desperately hoping Mickey doesn’t notice.

“Yeah but we were saying nice things so don’t be a dick.”

Mandy quips back to her brother and Ian realises with a shock that only seconds have passed. Jesus.

“Mickey, this place is so great. I can’t believe it.”

“Thanks. Mandy show you around already?”

“No, I thought you should.”

Mandy answers and Ian is grateful because the closer Mickey gets, the heavier Ian’s tongue becomes in his mouth and he loses all but rudimentary motor functions, nodding his head in agreement. Mickey is looking at him like he is a fucking steak, rare and a little bloody and he intends to reduce Ian down to a smear of grease on the plate.

“Were they out of lemons?”

Mandy’s tongue flicks out between her teeth and Mickey’s eyes shift toward her, giving Ian a split second of relief from their burning gaze. It is all he needs to gather his wits a little and recognise the game they have entered into. There is a spasm of panic which is quickly replaced with excitement as Ian feels himself loosening up. He doesn’t know why Mickey is challenging him, in a way he doesn’t even care. The fact that he is still on Mickey Milkovich’s fucked up radar enough that he wants to challenge Ian is good enough for now.

“Yeah, said you bought them all to shove in your box to try and sweeten it up a bit.”

Mandy flips him the bird but there is a happy smirk loitering in the corner of her mouth and Mickey runs his tongue along his bottom teeth, hoping she’ll let it go.

“Well I have an actual errand to run, so now you’re back from lemon land, can you please pretend to be a competent fucking host for a bit?”

Mickey scratches the side of his jaw and fights back a very tiny nugget of panic that nestles in his chest at the thought of being alone with Ian.

“Do you need a baby sitter, Gallagher?”

“No.”

Ian says dryly. Mickey recovered quickly but Ian saw the way his shoulder twitched when Mandy said she was leaving. He might be acting like one big dick swinging alpha male but Ian knows him too well. If Ian is steak, Mickey is the side of fucking fries and Ian is going to lick the salt from every bit of him before devouring him whole. Game fucking on.

“Well then I guess we’ll be fuckin’ fine, Mandy. Thanks.”

Mickey’s voice drips with sarcasm and Mandy flutters her eyelids in exasperation as she slides out of the booth.

“I’m going to be gone for an hour – minimum.”

“Gee, thanks for letting us know. Can we have a snack if we get hungry, Mom?”

Mandy rolls her eyes and kisses Mickey’s temple brusquely before doing the same to Ian and skipping out of the bar, closing the door decidedly behind her.

*

The emotions that had surfaced when they set eyes on each other had been raw, almost too painful to examine and Ian knows that it is something he will have to do properly in private later but for now he lets the fire that first embrace sparked keep burning and finds that he actually wants to fan the flames.

“So, are you going to be a good host?”

It is a bold challenge and a gamble but Ian knows the rules of this game. If he stammers an apology or tries to explain himself to Mickey yet, the words will bounce right back, nothing will stick. He has to get in close, work his way in beneath the jabs.

Mickey take the bait and his eyebrows flick upwards contemptuously as he answers Ian

“This ain’t a party and you certainly weren’t fuckin’ invited. Host yourself.”

First point, Milkovich. And it’s nearly a knock out.

Ian forces himself to keep the same casual smirk on his face but his palms are sweating.

“OK, well do you know of any decent hotels around here so I can find a place to stay?”

It’s a hard blow and lands in the centre of Mickey’s gut with a thud, winding him. Ian feels the weight of it in his own centre but this is what they do. This is how it has to be.

Mickey walks back to the bar and picks up his smokes, lighting one and drawing deeply. He doesn’t offer the packet and Ian doesn’t ask.

“Do I look like a fuckin’ guide book to you? I slept in my car the first couple months, I didn’t stay in any damn hotel.”

The response is characteristically flippant, the word ‘hotel’ spat disdainfully at Ian’s feet as if he asked for silk toilet paper rather than just a place to sleep.

“Well it’s only a week I’m sure I can find something.”

Ian sees hurt flash like lightening in the gathering storm of Mickey’s eyes and it throws him off-balance. He doesn’t get why that would wound Mickey but it clearly knocked some of the fight out of him.

“You’re a regular Sherlock, aren’t you?”

Ian almost says something snippy about how many ‘Galagers’ there are but swallows the comment. It would be cruel and Mickey doesn’t deserve it. He changes his tact instead.

“How did you get started here anyway?”

“Security.”

“Were they advertising or did you just prove they needed you?”

Ian only sees Mickey’s answering smile in profile. It is quick and bright and then it is gone and Ian’s heart flutters despite himself

“Little of both. They wanted three nights a week, I showed them seven would be safer.”

“Ah. So you then you … what? Worked your way up? Pulled yourself up by the bootstraps? Reached for the stars?”

Ian stands and stretches, he is so much taller than Mickey that the stretch is really unnecessary but it highlights Ian’s physical presence and gives Mickey a tantalising view of his midriff and the smattering of red-gold hair across it.

Ian moves across the room and plucks the burning cigarette out of Mickey’s fingers and Mickey lets him do it, watching as Ian’s lips close around the filter, his cheeks hollowing as he draws it in hard. Mickey wets his own lips with the tip of his tongue, not giving a shit if Gallagher notices.

“Yeah, proper good ol’ apple pie American Dream shit. You still an EMT?”

“Yeah, good at it too.”

Ian means for this to sound cocky, trying to irritate Mickey but the older man just smiles and Ian realises with a shock that what he is seeing is pride. The game is evolving.

“Of course you are, man, You’re good at taking care of people. Always have been.”

The unexpected praise is such a drastic deviation from their usual pattern of bobbing and weaving that Ian isn’t completely sure he has heard Mickey right. The atmosphere around them is still crackling but the building sense of a physical confrontation waiting to happen softens to something a little less like a brawl in the making.

This isn’t the way things usually go. Something fundamental has shifted between them and neither of them knows what to do about it. Mickey caused the change but is now utterly without a hope of dealing with it. He doesn’t have the words. He doesn’t know how to find them.

Mickey takes his cigarette back and watches Ian intently. His gaze is open and completely unguarded.

He knows that if he grabbed Ian by the balls and bit his lip until it bled, Ian would let him do it. If he wanted, he could be completely filled with Ian’s cock, his body aching around each desperate angry thrust, in mere moments.

And Mickey does want that. Fuck! How badly he wants it! But after all this time, after everything they have been through, they deserve better. He knows it and he knows that Ian knows it too. They could fight and they could fuck until pain and love mingle into one red hot mess between them, but then what? 

He looks up at Ian almost pleadingly and virtually sags with relief as comprehension finally dawns on the beautiful freckled face.

*

Understanding crashes down on Ian and he makes a small, soundless ‘o’ with his lips. Mickey doesn’t want to hurt him. He might want to fuck him, in fact Ian is pretty sure there is a mutually desperate desire for that, but he won’t hurt him to get it. The realisation is almost enough to bring tears to Ian’s eyes but he blinks them back.

He doesn’t know how welcome he will be in Mickey’s personal space but he is powerless to stop himself trying anyway. Mickey is right, Ian is good at taking care of people.

He steps in, near enough that he can see the fine grains of sand that have settled in Mickey’s hair and the slightly uneven tan lines from the different neck lines of Mickey’s shirts.

Mickey can smell the fruit juice Ian has drunk on his breath, hot and sweet and rolling over him in gentle puffs. Ian’s throat bobs up and down as he swallows and Mickey wants to wrap his hand around it, he wants to feel the pulse in Ian’s neck and cover it in kisses that will bruise.

He can’t stand for Ian to be this close, but he won’t back down, won’t be the one to move and so they stay locked in position.

Ian rakes his eyes over Mickey, he has not forgotten the language of Mickey’s body, rather he is rapidly remembering the nuances and the subtle shifts in pattern. Ian takes in Mickey’s hips, a boxers hips, slim and mobile; the way he shifts his weight a little always in motion even when to most people he would appear to be still.

“Where should I stay, Mickey?”

It’s the final round. The winning blow. And it is delivered with a feather light softness.

Green eyes are boring into him, demanding an answer. Mickey’s hands flutter upwards, he doesn’t even know if they are going to direct Ian out of the door or up to his room until it is happening and he hears himself saying

“Here. You’ll stay here.”

He doesn’t say ‘with me’ but Ian doesn’t need him to.


	12. With me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - explicit Gallavich love! 
> 
> (I don't normally post two chapters in a day but I wanted to do this because it came to me and where there is Gallavich joy, there is Real World joy too.)
> 
> xx

*“Here. You’ll stay here.”*

Ian knows what those words mean to Mickey. He’s heard echoes of them before, or has been told he heard them by Mandy. What Ian actually heard whilst buried in the first crippling bout of depression in Mickey’s bed will never be clear to him, the memory is buried under too many cushioning layers and he cannot reach it. He has tried.

*“He’s staying here with me”*

That is what Mickey apparently said to Fiona, to Debbie, to Lip and Mandy, to anyone who mentioned the possibility of moving Ian somewhere else. He had fought everyone, daring them and defying them, redefining their definition of impossible by forcing his own in their way.

Now stood in the quiet cocoon of a bar in Mexico, Ian has a chance to say what he wishes he had been able to say back then. It is a risk, but it is not impulsive – Ian has been holding these words ready for most of his adult life.

Mickey is breathing a little shallowly, the cigarette between his index and middle finger is burning low. His gaze is fixed on the door, but he is not really seeing anything other than his own thoughts and those are all about on the speckled green colour of Ian’s eyes. 

Ian licks his lips and summons all the courage he has, his gut is telling him this is the right thing to do and he has followed it so far … He lifts his hand and cups Mickey’s cheek in his palm.

“The fuck?”

Mickey reflexively jerks his head back but Ian doesn’t let go.

“I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Mick. I’ve always fucking loved you.”

His voice, pitched low, cracks over Mickey’s name.

Mickey shakes his head and places his own slightly smaller hand over Ian’s, tracing the large knuckles with this thumb. His eyes are closed and Ian knows how badly Mickey wants to turn and press his lips to the underside of his wrist. Ian runs a tentative hand through the salty knots of Mickey’s hair, trying to draw him in but Mickey has planted his feet and he shakes his head more firmly.

“Don’t.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come with you! I’m sorry I let you do all this alone…”

“Ian …”

“… But I love you! And you love me too! I know you do!”

Ian cups Mickey’s face with both hands now, he knows he is being too much, saying too much but if he doesn’t say it now, the words will most likely burn through his body, leaving him a charred wreck smoldering at Mickey’s feet.

Mickey twists away, his hands pushing at Ian’s chest, trying to get space between them but Ian won’t let it happen. It is like a dam has burst and he can’t help it. All of it: Meeting Yevgeny, the journey, the way Mickey held him on the beach, the tension in the bar when Ian didn’t know if they would fuck or fight or both … it has all led to this; telling Mickey that he loves him still and that he never stopped.

Mickey is trying not to lash out, trying to be gentle and all of the things he has worked so hard to become. He grabs Ian’s wrists and tries to break his grip but Ian is strong and determined and he won’t give Mickey an inch. It has been so long since someone has held him so fiercely and to Mickey it is both wonderful and terrifying because he knows that if Ian doesn’t let go soon, Mickey is going to kiss him or hit him. Maybe both.

He yanks at Ian’s hands and they drop from his face to his shoulders but if anything the grip intensifies and Mickey finally opens his eyes, furious and desperate and still Gallagher will not let him go.

“Please Mickey!”

“I can’t Ian! God fucking damn it! I can’t do this with you.”

“Why? Tell me why! You wanted me here! You let me find you!”

Ian yells back and Mickey punches him in the stomach. It isn’t a vicious blow but it makes Ian double over and breaks his grip on Mickey who moves backwards as fast as he can, he ass bumping one of the bar stools hard enough to bruise.

“Because you only gave me one fucking week, Ian.”

He wipes a trembling hand over his face and Ian looks up, his face a mask of confusion.

“What?”

“You’re here for one week. This is just … it’s just a fuckin’ vacation to you and that’s fine. You can do whatever the fuck you want but don’t you dare tell me you love me or touch my face or …”

Mickey breaks off, he is flapping his hands too much and his facial tics are all working overdrive as words fail him and he loses control of himself.

Ian pushes himself upright with a grunt and reaches toward him heedless of the state Mickey has worked himself up into.

“Don’t touch me.”

Mickey snaps and Ian freezes, hands held out as if to a strange dog who may or may not bite.

“I booked a week because I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me.”

“Of course I want to fucking see you! I never wanted to not see you!”

Mickey is beside himself with frustration and years of yearning and his eyes are bugging out of his head, eyebrows high.

“I thought you were pissed that I was here for so long.”

Ian shrugs haplessly feeling an utter fool.

“So long?”

Mickey actually laughs at that, a short humourless laugh that Ian has heard him direct at other people but never at him before and it makes him flinch. Mickey doesn’t seem to notice, shifting so that he is facing Ian square on and jabbing a finger at him furiously.

“You leave me at the fucking border of Mexico, in a fuckin’ dress with my ass still aching from you ramming your dick in me like it’s a fuckin’ pneumatic drill not five minutes before we got there, I don’t hear from you in almost five years, and you think a week is a long time? Jesus, Ian. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ian knows that the answer to that question is nothing medical at all. He’s just a fucking idiot.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey’s chest is heaving and Ian knows it is taking all his effort not to hit him again. He almost wishes Mickey would hit him, it might lessen some of the wretched sense of uselessness that is settling around him.

“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to be here. With me. And not just for a week.”

It is the final piece of the puzzle. Ian can’t help the ridiculous grin that spreads across his face. He isn’t sure it is the right reaction but it is the only one he can give because he seems to have lost control of his face. Mickey watches him with an expression somewhere between exasperation and sheer, unadulterated desire, blue eyes flicking between Ian’s eyes and his lips.

“I’m here, Mick.”

Ian spreads his arms wide in invitation and when Mickey doesn’t move, he crosses them over his body, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it off in one smooth motion.

“What are you doin?”

Mickey’s tone is still mildly aggressive but his body language is softening, his hand moving unconsciously to the edges of his own top.

“Showing you just how much I am here.”

Ian’s grin dips to a slow, easy smile, all lips and no bared teeth.

“And next week?”

Mickey is fiddling with the waistband of his shorts as Ian swiftly unbuckles his belt and pops the buttons of his jeans open, letting the heavy denim drop to pool at his feet. He wobbles slightly as he kicks off his boots and Mickey’s hand is on his elbow in an instant, steadying him.

“Next week I fly back to Chicago, I hand in my notice on my job and quit my flat and I get on the next flight back here. If you’ll have me.”

He’s down to his boxers, the black cotton contrasting beautifully with the pale expanse of his skin, all tight abs and toned thighs.

“You can’t do that, man. It’s crazy.”

Mickey demurs but his heart isn’t in it, Ian is offering him everything he wants and Mickey can’t turn away from it. He bites his lip as his eyes drink every available inch of his lover, for that is what Ian has always been, even in the years when he was not. It is an illogical logic. It is love.

“Don’t tell me what’s crazy.”

Ian orders softly as he bends to cover Mickey’s mouth with his own. For a second there is no response, not even a breath, and then Mickey’s lips part welcoming him home, and his hands are sliding up Ian’s back, gripping the back of his neck roughly, urging him deeper.

Ian doesn’t hesitate, he presses his body against Mickey’s as their tongues gel together, his own hands dipping low to grip Mickey’s ass, kneading it possessively, eliciting a deep throated groan.

Ian shivers as the hand on the back of his neck slides down his back and briefly squeezes his hip before slipping into his boxers and roughly palming his rock hard erection.

They break apart from the kiss, breathless and grinning like demons. Mickey is ripping his shirt off as Ian is yanking down Mickey’s shorts and discovering that he was correct: Mickey is not wearing underwear.

The thick thatch of dark pubic hair is a little more maintained than Ian remembers and a bolt of jealously courses through his blood like lightening. He wraps one hand around Mickey’s dick whilst the other twists in the lengths of black hair at the back of his head, yanking him backwards and exposing the pale skin of his throat to a series of biting kisses.

Mickey lets out a surprised laugh.

“Damn Gallagher! Absence makes the heart grow fuckin’ thorns apparently.”

Ian huffs his amusement in one heavy breath as he forces Mickey’s head back a little further and sweeps his legs out from under him in one smooth motion that sends them both crashing to the ground in a riot of limbs. Mickey recovers first, pulling Ian to him roughly and thrusting his tongue against Ian’s mouth, demanding entry which is immediately given.

Adrenaline is coursing through them; it feels as if their blood had been replaced with gasoline and each man is running with a flaming torch of fevered energy, on a collision course with destiny or disaster, it doesn’t even matter any more. The line between fighting and fucking blurs as hands slap against taut flesh and teeth graze against flushing skin and years of longing, lust and need explode in a riot of gasped breaths.

“Get inside me, Gallagher.”

Mickey snarls after a particularly enthusiastic squeezing of his balls leaves black spots skittering across his vision.

“Do you need a rubber?”

“I used one with everyone except you, man. I’m clean.”

Mickey shrugs and Ian smirks happily. It is part offering and part question, one that Ian is only too happy to answer

“Me too, so we’re good?”

Ian positions Mickey on his hands and knees before him, slicks his fingers and spreads Mickey open, controlling himself and going deliberately slowly until Mickey arches his back and makes a noise that is so clearly impatient, Ian actually laughs.

“Yeah we’re good. Hurry the fuck up!”

Ian can hear the smile in Mickey’s voice and knows without needing to look that his eyes will be closed and his lips parted, tongue dabbing lightly at one corner in the delicious agony of expectation.

He reaches round and strokes Mickey’s cock with hard, heavy movements, feeling liquid from the tip oil the pad of his thumb. Ian brings it to his mouth and licks it off with an exquisite shudder. Mickey still tastes the same.

Ian hadn’t really expected Mickey to let him dominate this much, he expected to be the one being roughed up and pushed to the limits of his endurance, but Mickey was only too willing and Ian realised he was living out a fantasy he hadn’t even known he had.

Ian would have preferred to prepare Mickey properly with lube but he knows that if he even suggests leaving to find some, Mickey will lose all semblance of cool. Hell! Ian will probably lose it too. On impulse he gets down onto all fours and licks Mickey from scrotum to the small of his back.

Mickey has never been a loud lover, years of stifling himself to silence has developed an active preference but as he feels Ian’s tongue sweeping along him, a loud moan is wrenched forth. He bites down on his lip but as Ian begins to nudge inside of him even that isn’t enough to stop another equally embarrassing noise escaping his throat.

Ian can’t bear to look at the smooth expanse of Mickey’s back, he closes his eyes tight and tries to slow himself down but Mickey is clenching around him, hot and tight and he can barely think.

“Oh God! Mickey! Mickey!”

He is whimpering like some sort of terrified virgin but holding both Mickey’s hips in an iron-grip, inching their bodies along the bare wooden floor boards with the force of his thrusting. Mickey grips the floor with his finger tips and arches backwards, slamming into Ian hard.

Mickey feels the true joy of his freedom surge upwards within him in a way it has not since he last had Ian. It is not just the sex, it is more than that. Mickey cannot even think the words ‘making love’ without cringing, but as their breath synchronises and their climaxes begin to build, it is the word ‘love’ which falls from Mickey’s lips over and over.

“I love you too. Ah… Oh … Mick…”

Ian felt his soul shatter into a million tiny pieces, each of them crying out for Mickey and collapsed forward, pressing his cheek between Mickey’s quivering shoulder blades, the grey noise usually filling his head for once completely, blessedly silent.

*

“Fuck, Gallagher.”

Mickey’s voice is hoarse but dreamy and Ian gently rolls them both over onto their sides.

“I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I took so long.”

Ian inhales Mickey’s scent deeply and feels Mickey press an almost reverent kiss to the back of his hand.

“It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.”

“Sandals and tequila.”

Ian mumbles sleepily and Mickey grins

“And fucking on the floor.”

“And in the ocean.”

Ian yawns. Mickey nods, considering the logistics and shrugs

“Sure, I’ve never tried that before.”

Ian squeezes him tightly, thinking that Mickey will never know how happy that statement makes him.


	13. Welcome to fuckin' Paradise.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the story has to continue in earnest and it absolutely will but ... first more of THIS! 
> 
> Thank you for reading, especially if you have read all >20k other words too. That is dedication!!! 
> 
> Han xx

Mickey doesn’t want to move but he also doesn’t want Mandy or Juan or a hapless early customer to walk in and find them naked and spooning on the floor.

“Time to shift it, Gallagher.”

Ian kisses the back of his neck in response and tightens his arms around Mickey’s chest, strumming the firm bud of his nipple with the pad of his thumb. Mickey has no idea how such a small touch can make him feel so damn good but he finds himself grinning into the crook of Ian’s arm, practically giddy with happiness.

“C’mon. If you let me up, I’ll get you a sandwich.”

“You a nineteen sixties housewife now?”

“Fuck you!”

Mickey lightly swats the hairy thigh slung across his hip, laughing, a sweet sound that stirs parts of Ian that are still throbbing from their last effort.

“I’m a modern man and I can feel your belly rumbling through my back, but fuck it, get your own damn food or starve, see if I care.”

“I got all I need.”

Ian smiles sleepily and blithely bites Mickey’s shoulder, pulling the flesh slightly with his teeth before letting go and pressing a kiss to the same spot.

“Yeah? Well cannibalism has drawbacks so …”

Mickey rolls over so that his forehead rests lightly against Ian’s own and runs the back of his hand from Ian’s shoulder to hip and back again, lingering slightly on the convex swell of his ribcage.

“… Get your ass up.”

Mickey pats the object in question affectionately, kisses Ian’s forehead and sits up. He finally has the presence of mind to lock the door to the bar and then pads out to the kitchen, not bothering with his clothes and realises with a start that he is humming.

“Well that ain’t fuckin’ happening.”

Mickey frowns, berating himself quietly as he pulls bread, chicken, mayo and various salad bits out of the fridge. He loves the bar, restoring and transforming the battered old dive into ‘Galagers’ is most definitely the best work Mickey has ever done, but perhaps his favourite thing, besides the beach location, is the kitchen.

He keeps it stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables and there is always good quality meat in the fridge. Mandy asked him if he had a Martha Stewart fetish when she first opened the fridge, expecting to find not much beside beer and candy. Mickey had played it gruff but the truth was that whilst he was in prison, he had access to candy and bitter grog that passed for a sort of hellishly strong beer; what he didn’t have was any sort of vegetable that crunched.

The beans were always cooked to a dull greenish slop, the carrots fell apart on his fork and the one time Mickey managed to get an apple, it was like biting into sponge. Meal times turned his stomach in jail and decent food is almost sacred to Mickey now.

Warm arms encircle Mickey as he is slicing tomatoes and hands that are warmer and bigger than Mickey would have thought possible, cup his genitals, shielding them protectively.

“Be careful with that knife.”

Ian grins, resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, watching him work and pressing his chest flush to Mickey’s back. He begins to sway slowly back and forth and Mickey sways with him, a little less sleek than Ian but radiating blissful contentment all the same.

Ian starts to hum a low tune, something Mickey knows but can’t quite place. He stops worrying about it as Ian’s dick slips between his cheeks, hard and slick.

“Already?”

“I like a man who’s good with his hands.”

Ian catches Mickey’s earlobe between his teeth and suckles it, moving his tongue against the sweet curve of skin, feeling Mickey’s cock stiffen and thicken in his cupped hands.

Mickey makes a soft ‘Mmm’, humming it out between his lips and Ian has to squeeze the base of his dick hard and fast to stop himself cumming right then. Ian used to wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and sticky, the mere memory of that happy little hum buzzing in his head enough to bring him to the edge. Hearing it again for real is more wonderful than he can describe.

“Mick? Please?”

Ian’s voice sounds whiny even to his own ears and he makes a mental note to man the fuck up just as soon as Mickey gets off of him in what Ian guesses will be approximately two and a half minutes time.

“Does it seem like I’d say no?”

Mickey twitches in Ian’s hand, grinning as he turns and pushes him backwards. Ian’s thighs bump against the short dining table and he cocks a slender red eyebrow at Mickey in question. Mickey has his bottom lip twisted in that way which tells Ian this is going to be over quickly and nods

“Lie down.”

Ian lays himself back and Mickey straddles him, already slick from their earlier frolic. Ian dips his fingers into him, curling them until Mickey gasps and rounds his shoulders as if blocking an invisible assailant.

Ian removes his hand and as Mickey slides onto his cock in one smooth movement, Ian slides his hands down the front of Mickey’s thighs, digging his heels into the floor and contorting his face in ecstasy.

Mickey rides him slowly, one hand braced on Ian’s chest, his head tipped upwards to the ceiling.

“Look at me, Mickey.”

Ian urges and slowly, like the sun coming out from behind a lazy summer cloud, Mickey’s eyes meet with Ian’s and hold. This time neither gives voice to the words that thrum in the air between them and the silence is filled only with the sound of mingled breath, each listening for the hitch or catch that will signal their lover is near. Ian gasps first and props himself up on one elbow, his free hand working Mickey with expert precision. They linger for the space of two or three more heartbeats and then the universe tilts on its axis and scatters them both into perfect nothingness.

*

By the time Ian comes back from the customer bathroom drying his hands on a paper towel, Mickey is washed up and back with the tomatoes. Ian peers over his shoulder, arms once again coming round Mickey’s middle, higher this time but no less insistent. He knows he is being clingy but he can’t seem to help it and Mickey clearly doesn’t mind. One of Ian’s favourite things about Mickey has always been that he leaves you with no doubt when he minds something.

“That looks like a really healthy sandwich. I remember when you used to just chuck a poptart at me.”

“Yeah and that was only if you fuckin’ earned it.”

Mickey smirks and lifts a slice of the red fruit from the chopping board, quietly touching it to Ian’s lips without looking at him.

“Mmm. Damn! Is that some sort of Mexican super tomato?”

Ian licks his lower lip and glances down at the rest of the slices hungrily.

“Sun grown, makes them sweet. You know I like ‘em sweet, Firecrotch.”

Mickey lays the slices across the top of each sandwich, the pride in his voice unmistakable even through the teasing tone.

“Did you grow them?”

Ian nuzzles his nose into the hollow of Mickey’s collarbone and feels the reluctant nod his lover gives. Mickey’s shoulder twitches beneath his cheek and Ian fights back a grin. Mickey always gets squirrely when he is caught in something harmless but contrary to his image of himself.

“Yeah, no, I mean, there were a couple stringy plants left in the upstairs bathroom, they seem to like the light or whatever and I accidently fuckin’ sprayed ‘em with the showerhead thingy a couple times … anyway next thing I know, there’s fuckin’ tomatoes sprouting everywhere. It’s not like I tend a fuckin’ garden or any shit like that.”

Mickey can feel the vibration of Ian’s suppressed laughter and turns his head slightly to give him a mock-stern look, eyebrows arched.

“You laughin’ at me, Gallagher?”

“No … Yes.”

Ian snorts and gives in to the fit of giggles, letting go of Mickey and stepping away, hands raised defensively

“I was just picturing you … with one of those purple, wide-brimmed hats old ladies wear to do their ro…roses …”

He is gasping for breath, backing away from Mickey as quickly as he can whilst the brunette stalks after him, nodding along with a sardonic little smile at the corner of his own mouth, fighting back his own amusement for all he is worth.

“… standing … in the shower w…w…with your tomatoes all scandalised …”

“So you know you’re fuckin’ dead, right? Like, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Mickey raises his hands in a gesture of inevitability as Ian ducks behind the stumpy little kitchen table. He is not really even close to annoyed but he knows Ian enjoys teasing him and Mickey enjoys seeing Ian flushed with laughter, so they are both happy.

“I’m sorry …”

“Nah, it’s too late for that, man.”

Mickey feigns to the left and then chases to the right, but Ian is quicker.

“Really Mick, I’m sorry! … I’m sure you look fucking adora..!”

The last word is cut off with a squeak as Mickey lunges after him, they’re both laughing now, though Mickey’s eyes are large and dark with arousal and that more than the laughter is making Ian’s knees go weak.

“Was that girly little squeak you or have I got rats?”

“I did not …”

“You fuckin’ did!”

Mickey finally catches him and uses his body to box Ian into the corner, placing his hands on the wall on either side of Ian’s grinning face.

“You gonna show me who’s boss?”

He asks, running his hands lightly down Mickey’s forearms and linking them around the back of his head.

“Do I fuckin’ need to? Cause I don’t think I do, bitch.”

Ian had almost forgotten just how much that soft, arrogant, Southside drawl turned him on when Mickey used it like this. Hot and teasing and so damn sexy it was unreal.

It reminds him of the teenage menace who fought dirty and half-smothered Ian in his bedsheets and came within seconds of breaking his face before they fucked for the first time. There isn’t much similarity between that boy and the man Ian sees before him now, but the memory still gives him shivers and he kisses Mickey deeply, suddenly desperate to be closer.

“You OK?”

Mickey pulls back from Ian after a minute and gives him a lopsided smile

“Yeah, I was just … I was remembering the way you used to be when we were kids.”

Ian whispers and twitches his nose a couple of times, lifting glazed eyes to the ceiling. Mickey lets go and backs off immediately, misreading Ian’s sudden mood swing as fear.

“Woah … Ian, I know I was an asshole back then but …”

Ian’s head snaps back down and he seizes Mickey’s upper arms in a grip that he knows will leave bruises tomorrow but neither of them seems to really notice.

“You were not an asshole! You were just a kid dealing with more than anyone should have to and I am so fucking sorry I didn’t see it. I was so wrapped up in my own shit … everything that went down with my illness and before … the stuff with Sve…”

“No, shhh. Not now.”

Mickey’s surprised expression morphs into one of unshakable authority as he cuts across Ian, pressing a hand firmly over his mouth for good measure. He holds Ian’s gaze, keeping him steady with a look

“I know we have some things to talk through and later, I will hear out whatever you want to tell me, I promise I will. But just let us have this,”

Mickey gestures around them; their naked bodies, the playful chasing, the sandwiches waiting to be eaten at the hastily cleaned table.

“for a little bit longer, okay? I have missed the shit out of you, Gallagher. Please?”

Ian nods and Mickey removes his hand, rubbing Ian’s shoulder instead.

“You want your sandwich?”

“Yeah.”

Ian nods and Mickey smiles encouragingly at him, patting his face and gripping his chin lightly.

“Get dressed, you ain’t eaten a post-cum snack til you’ve eaten it on a sandy beach with the wind in your hair.”

Ian feels the jealousy bite back at him but nudges it aside with a little more ease than last time. They’ve both lived their lives the best they could in the years apart, and he also knows that Mickey might just be talking about jacking off, or at least that is what Ian tells himself.

For Mickey’s part he casts a concerned glance at Ian’s back and rubs his upper lip, wondering if Ian is really alright. He doesn’t want to ask about the medication, he does’t want to ask about Ian’s condition at all until Ian brings it up but Mickey knows that this is all a Hell of a lot to take in and that dealing with emotions can be beyond draining for Ian.

‘Later.’

Mickey thinks. They will deal with whatever they have to deal with later. Grabbing his plate he follows him out, hastily tugging on his clothes and waiting for Ian to catch up before throwing the front door wide open and gesturing at the pristine beach before them.

“Welcome to fuckin’ paradise, Firecrotch!”


	14. Sickness and Health.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter and it's kind of the middle-hinge for this work I think.
> 
> Thank you for your comments, your kudos and for following along.
> 
> Han xxx

Mickey spreads an old hoody on the beach next to Ian and puts the plate down on it before disappearing back inside. He reappears on the steps with a cola in his right hand and a beer in his left.

“Gallagher?”

“Left.”

“Good man!”

Ian shakes his head, smiling as Mickey ducks once more inside. Finally he comes back out and he has a tray of beer, chips, some sort of pink dip and a couple of apples which he sets down beside the plate before sitting down with a contented grunt and picking up a beer bottle, temporarily oblivious to the amused look on Ian’s face.

“Cheers! … What?”

“Mick, are we having a picnic on the beach?”

Mickey looks around, scowling

“No.”

“You spread a blanket and put food on it.”

“It’s a fuckin’ hoody.”

Mickey quips, drawing his chin in defensively and swigging from his bottle before pointing the neck at Ian like a teacher with a laser pointer explaining something to a particularly dim student.

“And you can’t just put shit down on the beach, sand gets fuckin’ everwhere.”

“Okay.”

Ian shrugs and Mickey gives him a suspicious side on look before muttering

“It’s not a fuckin’ picnic”

and biting into his sandwich.

*

Ian begins to spiral as they eat. The beach is beautiful, he is sat next to the man he loves, today has been fucking weird as Hell so far but the majority of it has been amazing.

He tries to slow his thoughts down. Tries to breathe through the anxiety and push away the negative thoughts.

He completes his mental health check list and comes to the conclusion that he is feeling seriously fucking stressed. Ian hasn’t slept enough the last few nights, he is in a different climate, he is in love and terrified of ruining it. These are all things he is supposed to avoid or at least carefully prepare for!

Ian thought that things would move slower when he arrived. He didn’t think that they’d already be picnicking on the beach (and Mickey can couch it however he wants, but the activity he has just invited Ian to is a damn picnic!) Ian thought there would be more talking.

But of course that isn’t Mickey. Mickey is someone who acts not someone who talks. Ian knows he should just be grateful that the action Mickey has taken has been to accept him, to make love to him and to have a picnic rather than stamping him to a bloody pulp and banishing him back to Chicago. He knows that and yet the niggling fears at the back of his mind are getting harder to silence and a big part of Ian learning to live with his condition has been addressing things as they come up and Mickey has told him he doesn’t want to do that yet.

Ian’s feet are tapping the sand and his fingers are drumming the crust as if he is on the brink of a manic episode.

This thought panics him further but he pushes it down, Mickey made it very clear that he doesn’t want to deal with this sort of thing yet and Ian doesn’t want to deal with it either. God! How badly he wishes he didn’t have to deal with it. He ducks his head and prays that he is just having a regular, old panic attack and then almost laughs at the twisted absurdity of that.

“Hey, Ringo! You gonna play that bread or eat it?”

Mickey is smirking at him but Ian can see concern clouding his eyes and he hates it. As far as Ian is concerned, his illness is what drove them apart last time. Mickey tried so hard but it wasn’t enough. Any minute he is going to realise that Ian is still just the same. New job. New apartment. Same fucked up brain. Mickey is going to realise and he is going to make him leave.

The hug on the beach, the sex, the ‘I love you’s, even the fucking tomatoes! It’s all going to be swept away. He considers dashing back to the bar and taking another Lithium to calm down but he knows that will only leave him staring at walls whilst sounds echo around his head a few times before he can make out what he is hearing.

“It’s a really nice sandwich, thank you.”

His voice is flattening out and he feels his chin tremble.

Everything is so perfect already, it is all just perfect and it has only been a couple of hours. Too much has passed and too much has changed for everything to be fine so quickly. Mickey should be furious with him for so many things! How is he willing to just pick up with him as if no time has passed at all? Is it just a play? A set-up? Is he going to wake up tomorrow and find that Mickey was just toying with him to get back at him?

Ian reaches out and grips Mickey’s hand tightly in his own unable to bear the swirling paranoia on his own any more and after a second, Mickey squeezes tightly back.

Ian slowly lifts his eyes to meet the calm blue gaze he can already feel resting on him and what he sees there is a level of certainty that Ian hasn’t felt in so long that it almost frightens him in a whole new way.

“Can I ask what you’re thinking?”

“No.”

Mickey says firmly, but he is still smiling at Ian in that way that creates a little pocket of light in the darkening clouds of his mind.

“Fine,”

Ian half-laughs, shaking the tattooed fingers in his palm lightly

“Can I tell you what I’m thinking then?”

“Sure, but if I fall asleep don’t be offended.”

Mickey teases, even as he is putting his beer aside and turning to look at Ian properly, giving him his full attention. He has a vague notion of what is coming and braces himself for it. Mandy was right, Ian is like a dog with a fucking bone once he gets something in his head. Mickey should have known that simply telling Ian he didn’t want to talk about shit yet was not going to stall him long.

“You seem really happy here.”

“Yeah? Well it sure as Hell beats being behind bars.”

“Yeah but I mean … you’ve made a great life here, Mick.”

Ian is starting to find his stride and his hands are not shaking quite so badly now that he is talking.

“I guess.”

Mickey is clearly wary, giving nothing away and Ian bites his lip.

“You have everything set up just how you like it, right?”

Ian is searching Mickey’s face as if looking for some sort of flashing sign to appear on his forehead saying … something. Ian doesn’t really know what.

“Okay,”

Mickey huffs a long suffering sigh and removes his hand from Ian’s grasp, stretching his fingers through tangled red curls.

“Spit it out.”

“What?”

“Whatever dumb ass question you’re goin’ to ask me.”

“Why do you think it’ll be dumb?”

Ian asks, a little hurt and Mickey kisses the top of his head fondly

“Because it’s going to be about whether I want you here or whether there is room for you or some shit like that and I think I made myself pretty fuckin’ clear on that earlier.”

His tone is much gentler than the words he speaks and Ian chews the inside of his cheek thoughtfully before replying

“Well, I guess, I mean … where do you see me fitting in longterm?”

Ian is trying not to sound too worried but it creeps into his voice all the same.

“You’ve been here less than a day, man. I don’t … I mean, listen, we got time to figure all that shit out.”

Mickey shrugs and picks up his beer but his eyes never leave Ian’s face, he is staying with him, even though he is clearly not sure why Ian is being such a pain in the ass about this.

“But I need to know, Mick. I can’t just float around in your life.”

Ian crosses his legs neatly, facing Mickey properly.

“I know, but I didn’t exactly have a lot of warning you were coming,”

Mickey begins and then holds up his hands as Ian’s chin take prominence and quickly continues

“and I am fuckin’ glad you are here but I don’t have all the answers yet, Ian.”

Ian nods and allows a little of that logic to cut through the panic that has been building since Mickey pressed him against the wall in the kitchen.

He wishes that he could push it to the back of his mind and leave it there like Mickey asked him to but it’s just too much pressure. They’ve declared their love, they’ve had sex twice but they don’t have any actual plan and no matter how much he wants to be free, Ian can’t just go along on a whim.

“It’s just I have to give up my job and my apartment …”

“No, you said you were gonna to do that. No one is forcing your hand here.”

Ian hears the slight sharpness in Mickey’s tone and takes a slow breath before continuing with a careful precision to his words that instantly irritates Mickey.

“But all the same, that is what I have to do in order to be here with you and I just want to be sure that I have a place. If I do not have a place then I cannot move here.”

“Jesus! Yes! You have a place! I don’t know what it is yet but maybe we could spend five fuckin’ minutes working it out before you get all psycho-chick on me.”

Mickey doesn’t mean to lose his patience and he instantly regrets it but he doesn’t get why Ian is making this so hard. He just arrived, pretty much out of the blue, and expects Mickey to know exactly what to do with him! Outside of fucking, eating together and all the other shit that couples do, Mickey has no desire to control what Ian does at all, and he never has.

“I didn’t mean to be a psycho.”

Ian mutters and Mickey frowns guiltily down at his hands.

“Yeah, no, you weren’t. I was out of line.”

He doesn’t know why Ian needs to do this now. If Mickey is completely honest, he would rather jerk off with sandpaper than try and talk about this without time to prepare what he wants to say. It is exactly why he was so pissed that Ian has only given him a week, but there is something so obviously wrong with Ian at the moment … Mickey lets out a short heavy exhalation of breath through his nose.

“Ian, what you and I have is like … it’s like the fuckin’ ocean.”

He feels ridiculous but there isn’t much else in view to give him some sort of visual cue for what he’s trying to say and when violence or flight isn’t an option, Mickey can be surprisingly inventive in crisis.

“You know? Like, I love the ocean, it’s beautiful and I love being in it and being near it but I never know what the fuck it’s gonna do next. It might send one of those freak waves and destroy the whole fuckin’ town, for all I know. Point is, I don’t care ‘cause I’m sat here and I am down for whatever. But if you need to know exactly what’s what, you gotta try and find out for yourself.”

Mickey breaks off shrugging, he doesn’t know what else he can say and his nose is twitching like a fucking rabbit.

A couple of the tears that Ian managed to control in the kitchen slip over his lashes and tumble down his cheeks. It is perhaps the most romantic thing Mickey has ever to him and he watched every ounce of struggle cross his lovers face as he got the words out.

“I love the ocean too but I need to have a boat ready, Mick. If I don’t then I’ll sink.”

Mickey chews at the edge of his thumb, nodding slowly. He isn’t great with metaphors, but he started this one and he gets what Ian is trying to say, he just isn’t sure how to respond. After a few seconds he decides to just plunge in.

“Because of the bi-polar?”

Ian is still looking at him with that odd searching way that makes Mickey feel a bit too scrutinised for his liking but he bears it as best he can while Ian decides how to answer. He opens his mouth and closes it a couple of times and finally says:

“Yeah.”

It is hardly the cascade of information Mickey was both dreading and hoping for and catches him off guard. He snorts and gives Ian a brief cheeky smile

“You been around me for less than a day and I’ve already zapped your ability to string a fuckin’ sentence together.”

It’s a bit of a weak joke but Ian gives him an answering smile and brushes the back of his hand down Mickey’s forearm affectionately.

“Do you actually want to hear about it?”

“I don’t know, man. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but I was kind of there for the beginning of this whole thing. I get it, you know?”

Ian nods. It is a fair point and makes him feel a bit silly for worrying so much about trying to talk to Mickey about it in the first place.

“I’m still on my meds, they got the dose right and my moods are pretty even. When something big happens, I can get a little rattled and I have to stick to a routine or I can lose track of things pretty quickly. It’s how I have to live Mickey, I can’t just throw all the cards in the air because I never know if I’ll still be there when they land. You were so fucking great with me but I know how hard it was and … well I’m not like that anymore, I don’t get depressed and I don’t get crazy.”

As Ian speaks, his confidence grows and he twines their fingers together again and Mickey moves himself a little closer.

“Okay, so you just, like, need a routine? Like the guy who’s really good at scammin’ casinos and won’t go on a plane. Not Tom Cruise, the other one.”

“Are you comparing me to Rain Man?”

Ian is so surprised it actually completely bursts the bubble of the panic attack which has been deflating a little as their conversation went on.

“Yeah! Rain Man! That guy needed a routine, right? But he was wicked smart.”

“He was autistic.”

“Yeah? Oh. Well whatever man. Point is, I’m Tom Cruise and you’re Rain Man. I can take care of you.”

“You’re short enough…”

Ian mumbles and Mickey grins, punching his arm lightly.

“So what time do you take your pills?”

“Seven AM and Seven PM. Everyday.”

Mickey nods and Ian gives him a slightly wobbly smile as he watches him commit it to memory.

“Okay. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing, I got it under control. I just … I have to have a plan Mick. I know that’s gonna drive you crazy but I really can’t help it.”

Ian brings Mickey’s hand to his lips and kisses along the word ‘FUCK’ in four soft little pecks that brings a genuine smile to Mickey’s lips.

“Fine. I ain’t gonna want to talk with you about it all the time though. This shit is exhausting. You just tell me what we’re doin’ and I’ll roll with it.”

“As easy as that? You just deal with my bi-polar forever?”

Ian compresses his lips and draws in a shuddering breath trying desperately hard not to go completely to pieces or start laughing hysterically at how easy Mickey makes it all sound.

“It’s a part of you, Ian. Be like you not lovin’ me for having blue eyes. It’s what I got and shit all I can do about it.”

“I love your eyes.”

Ian smiles and shakes his head

“I know it’s who I am but it caused so many problems before …”

“It was never me who had the problem with your diagnosis, man. You’re family. Would have taken a Hell of a lot more than being sick to make me quit you. In sickness and health, just like I told you.”

Ian stares at him, dumbfounded for a moment. He always saw what Mickey could be, he saw through the rough exterior and he knew there was more there but still …

“Jesus Christ, Mickey! You’re like some sort of zen Guru! You’re like, Kev!”

“Fuck off! I’m smarter than Kev.”

Mickey lifts his eyebrows, mildly offended, and Ian laughs despite the massive damn lump in his throat.

“You really think this can work?”

“Yes.”

Short and sweet and absolutely fucking certain.

“Is there anything else you need to get off your chest today?”

“No.”

“You sure? Cause in a minute I am goin’ to get us a couple more beers and when I get back I want that mopey fuckin’ look off your face. So you got something else to say, say it now.”

Ian smiles, he loves it when Mickey is sweet to him but this is the tough guy he fell for and Ian will never be sorry to see this side of him. He considers for a moment

“Have you been with a lot of other guys?”

Ian blurts the question and immediately feels foolish but Mickey simply puffs his cheeks out, thinking.

“A few. One time I thought it was maybe going somewhere but it didn’t and I was fine with that.”

“Did you love him?”

“No. I been in love once, Ian. It wasn’t with him and you fuckin’ better know that.”

Mickey is deadly serious all of a sudden and Ian nods sheepishly. Tough guy indeed!

“I had a couple of boyfriends.”

“I figured.”

Mickey narrows his eyes, looking out toward the horizon.

“Do you want …”

“No. I don’t.”

Mickey tilts his head slightly and gives Ian a look from under his eyebrows, his mouth pinched a little tight. Ian nods and swallows, sniffs and slowly leans forward, pressing his forehead against Mickeys.

“Thank you and I’m sorry. I wish I could turn off my brain sometimes.”

“What is it with you and Mandy always fuckin’ apologising all the damn time? Is it a girl thing? Is it a gay thing? I don’t even fuckin’ know anymore.”

The exasperation in Mickey’s voice is only slightly exaggerated and Ian’s heart squeezes with love.

“Could be a red-head thing?”

“Yeah, maybe. I need a drink. Can I go and grab some beer now? You good?”

“I’m good.”

Ian nods and kisses the tip of Mickey’s nose.

“Good. Back in a minute.”

*

Mandy can see them as soon as she rounds the corner onto the beach strip. Her brother is sprawled at Ian’s feet whilst he is stood doing some sort of crazy ‘Titanic’ moment impression with his arms spread wide and tipped back.

She deliberately slows her pace, enjoying watching two of her favourite people in the world have some of the fun that they both clearly need. Ian strolls down to the water’s edge and Mandy can’t help but grin as Mickey dusts himself off and follows. It had been a risky coin-toss of a situation leaving them together like she had.

Mickey had clearly been working something out or he wouldn’t have used her as a damn human shield to put between him and Ian. Working out for Mickey normally involved a world class fucking temper tantrum followed by a ton of obnoxious posturing afterwards but he seemed to have himself pretty much under control by the time he got back, even if he was being a cocky asshole.

As for Ian, well, Mandy loved her best friend dearly, she would probably take a bullet for him if it ever came to it, but he could be a stubborn jerk when he wanted to be. He had clearly said something to set Mickey off and he either wasn’t aware of the effect he managed to have (which she doubted) or he hadn’t been entirely sure what to do about it (which was far more likely) and if that was the case, he just needed to figure it the fuck out.

However, from the way they were acting on the beach, Mandy is pretty confident they have things a little more worked out now. As she watches, Ian catches Mickey around the waist and half-drags, half-carries him into the sea. Mickey is waving his arms about, clearly trying to protect something in his hand, Mandy is too far away to see clearly but she would bet her right boob it is a cigarette.

Ian boosts Mickey up in his arms and Mandy can hear her brother’s voice, raised high in shock and alarm, spouting all sorts of threats that clearly do not phase Ian in the slightest as he wades out further. Mandy leans against the railing, close enough to see them clearly now and sighs happily.

There is no one in the world besides Ian who Mickey would let manhandle him this way. It is like Ian manages to strip away the layers of carefully constructed self-preservation and fierce control that her brother has wrapped around himself to get straight down to the playful, gentle soul that exists beneath.

“You drop me and … I swear to God! … Ian! …”

Ian is up to his own waist now and Mickey’s arms are wrapped around his neck

“DIVE BOMB!”

Ian roars and plunges them both into the blue. The water turns cloudy with churned up sand and water flies up into the air in a shower of crystal. Mandy covers her mouth, though she knows there is zero chance of them hearing her laughter.

She sees a flash of red and then Ian is up, spluttering and pushing his hair back from his head. He looks around grinning, but there is no sign of Mickey. He takes a few steps forward, looks around again and Mandy can see his smile turning into a mild panic.

“Mick? Mickey?!”

He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth, looking frantically left and right, turning in a full circle. Mandy lights a cigarette, gets out her iPhone, opens the camera, zooms in on Ian and waits.

There is a split second when the water stills and Ian looks absolutely fucking terrified and then he is being boosted into the air with a shriek that has Mandy choking on her smoke for its ridiculousness. As her thumb fans the camera button like a Spaghetti Western gunslinger, she captures Mickey erupting from the water grinning triumphantly, one arm wrapped around Ian’s thighs. She captures Ian’s stunned expression turning into a raucous laugh as Mickey launches him upwards and let’s go and she captures a very blurry image of Ian hitting the water, still beaming.

She puts her phone away as Ian chases Mickey out of the surf, his long legs making light work of the distance, tackling him down onto the sand and kissing him passionately - as if that isn’t what they have been doing since about five minutes after she left them alone together, Mandy thinks, rolling her eyes.

She sighs and wonders if all the flat surfaces in the bar will need bleaching before they let the customers in for the evening. A hand lightly rests on the small of her back and a slim, brown chin drops down onto her shoulder.

“Who’s that sucking Boss’s face off?”

Juan asks and Mandy shrugs nonchalantly

“His boyfriend.”

“Cool.”

Juan nods and stands up straight, trailing a finger up Mandy’s back.

“Wanna do the same thing but somewhere … a little more private?”

Mandy tips her head to the side and looks up at him through lowered lashes

“You worried my big brother will catch us being bad?”

“Nah, pretty sure I could marry you on the beach right now with a priest and my whole family there and he wouldn’t notice.”

Juan grins and Mandy rolls her eyes again.

“You know how I feel about marriage.”

“I’ll get you one day, baby. Just a matter of time.”

Juan links his fingers with hers and tows her back toward his flat and Mandy does not even pretend to resist.

*

“Good job you’re a decent kisser. That little stunt just cost me a nearly full pack of smokes and a pretty sweet lighter.”

Mickey, who has been patting his wet pockets and found them to be empty, gives Ian an accusing look before smiling against the next onslaught of kisses that cover his mouth.

“Forgiven?”

Ian grins down at him and Mickey catches the front of Ian’s shirt in his fist pulling him down.

“Gimmee one more… Mmm… yeah okay, forgiven.”

Ian rolls off Mickey and they lie on their backs, side by side squinting up at the bright blue sky, each occasionally turning to look at the other with soft, lazy smiles.

Mickey has his hands folded neatly on his chest and Ian slowly inches his own hand across. He feels Mickey’s gaze shift back to him as Ian slips his fingers under his palm and gently tugs it onto the sand between them.

He lifts his eyes to meet Mickey’s and sees that same clear blue stare of utter certainty and this time, Ian feels it too.


	15. The Gutter.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a long chapter but possibly my favourite so far because ... feels!  
> Only a teenie bit NSFW.  
> Thank you!
> 
> Shamelessly4Shameless over on tumblr.

Watching Mickey and Mandy serve customers is a bit like watching kids play shop with plastic cans of beans, pretend money and no clue about the service industry. They are haphazard, their manner toward customers is as far from compliant as it is possible to get but their shot pouring is often generous to the point of lunacy and the customers keep coming.

The clientele is mostly young people but Mickey is scrupulous with ID checking, he can’t afford to get into any sort of legal mix up with the police if a fifteen year old gets taken to the ER with alcohol poisoning. He doesn’t seem to mind them hanging out though as long as no one is causing trouble and everyone is buying something.

Ian starts off just sitting back and watching but after a while the place starts to fill up and he begins to help Juan clear the tables and serve up nachos and fries from the kitchen – the two items on the food menu.

“You don’t got to help me, man. I got it.”

Juan glances awkwardly at Mickey and then back to Ian

“I don’t mind helping out.”

Ian smiles and Juan shrugs. He doesn’t mind having the help as long as Mickey doesn’t think he’s slacking off.

*

Ian is doing his third or fourth sweep of the room when he sees a couple of kids topping up their cola with vodka from a bottle under the table and turns to see if anyone else has noticed only to find Mickey staring straight at them.

“Should I say something?”

Ian asks, leaning across the bar to be heard over the music. Mickey pushes his tongue into his cheek considering. He’s changed into a black button down shirt and dark jeans, Ian is having a hard time concentrating on anything besides the way Mickey’s shoulders stretch the fabric, and is absurdly jealous of the belt slung low round his hips.

“Nah. They ordered food earlier and this is their third soft drink. Let ‘em have this one and I’ll bust them if they do it again next round.”

Mickey nods to the washing bowl of dishes in Ian’s hands

“You know Juan can take care of that right?”

“Yeah but I like to help. Makes me feel useful.”

Ian grins and Mickey shrugs, happy as long as Ian is happy.

“Okay but you know … Jesus Christ! What the fuck is this …”

Mickey breaks off, turning to glare at a young man who is banging on the bar for service

“Do that again and I’ll shove the next shitty martini you order up your ass.”

The young man is momentarily stunned and then frowns over his glasses at Mickey.

“You’re the one making them! If they’re shitty, that’s on you.”

“If they’re shitty it’s because they’re a shitty drink. Try this instead.”

Mickey pours a half-shot of tequila and puts it in front of him

“One hundred pesos for this or two hundred for a martini.”

“Dude! It’s not even a full shot!

“Because you’re already in full asshole mode. Don’t bang on my bar for attention again if you like your hands attached to your body”

The guy grudgingly hands over the money and Mickey finally releases him from the glare glasses-guy has been withering under since the exchange began. Ian feels a little for glasses-guy but watching the exchange was seriously hot! He is almost desperate to kiss Mickey but isn’t sure how okay that is in front of a bar full of people. His hesitance isn’t even about the possibility of Mickey having one foot still in the closet. He clearly lives an out and proud life here, but he always hated public displays of affection and even when he and Ian were an acknowledged couple back in Chicago, Mickey tended to shy away from his touch if there was an audience. Ian hovers undecided for a moment and it is a moment too long because Mickey is already moving down the bar taking next orders.

*

Mandy and Juan are so obviously an item that Ian can’t believe Mickey doesn’t seem to know. The sly little touches and lingering looks that fly between them would be cringe worthy if they were not clearly in love.

As the initial early evening rush subsides at around nine and Ian sidles over to her and whispers

“Mandy and Juan sitting in a tree …”

She grins and presses a finger to her lips.

“Oh c’mon, you don’t really think Mickey is going to mind do you?”

“No, but Juan feels weird about dating the Boss’s sister so we’re on the down low.”

She wraps a length of hair around her finger, her darkly lined eyes already slipping from Ian’s face searching for her boyfriend.

“Tell me about it later?”

Ian asks and Mandy nods, shooing him away impatiently. Mickey’s own gaze is raking the bar in search of Ian and he can’t help but smile at how similar the Milkovich siblings are in subtle little ways.

“Hey!”

Mickey’s slight frown instantly clears as he spots Ian’s read hair bobbing toward him and he pours four shots of top shelf tequila.

“It always gets a little quiet now, the shack down the road sells churros and when they close up the old guy who runs it practically gives the days left overs away.”

“Cool.”

Ian accepts the drink and smiles as Mickey delivers Juan and Mandy their shot before having his own. Mickey would never recognise it but he is something of a natural leader. Ian can see why Juan so casually calls him ‘Boss’, in this place that is exactly what he is and Ian loves it.

“Yeah, nice guy. He likes us cause we sorted some trouble he was having a little while ago so he makes sure to send everyone back here once the free grub is gone.”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah – no biggy. Some kids havin’ fun. I suggested they might take it elsewhere and they did.”

The calm, authoritative tone that is no doubt the front to a story that involves far more than a suggestion does things to Ian that make him squirm on the barstool uncomfortably. Mickey glances down at Ian’s lap and his tongue pokes into the corner of his mouth, a brief flash of pink against the tan of his cheek.

He turns in that lazy, wide armed way that Ian loves so much and the air frizzes around them with kinetic energy. Ian is half way out of his seat when Mandy dumps herself onto his lap, pushing him back down.

“Ian, do you want to go try a churro? They’re really good.”

Mandy hands Mickey back her glass and strokes Ian’s arm, her nails digging in slightly and he nods obediently.

“Yeah sure. Mick, should I bring you one back?”

“Nah. Gotta watch my figure.”

Mickey grins and slaps his flat belly lightly. Mickey cocks his head to the side and gives Ian the briefest of winks, stealing a moment of gentle intimacy from the humming bar, and then looks past him.

“Hey! You two! Yeah that’s right, Thelma and Louise, I see you over there. This ain’t a BYOB party. You want vodka? Get some older friends to buy it for you from my bar or scram.”

The girls Ian noticed earlier both giggle and hastily gulp down their drinks before sliding out of the booth.

“Ugh. Those two are in here all the time. They can’t get enough of Mickey telling them off.”

Mandy stands up and scowls after them as they dash out with shy little waves

“Really?”

Ian raises an eyebrow at Mickey who shrugs and grins a little bashfully and begins taking glasses out of the dishwasher, wiping them on the cloth, which seems to live over his left shoulder from the second the bar opens.

“Yeah, they might have a little crush goin’ on. Harmless though and not a fuckin’ word of English.”

“Then why …?”

Ian begins and Mandy collapses dramatically against him, fluttering her eyelids and pouting.

“It’s his big, pretty blue eyes and bad boy growly voice.”

Mickey salutes her with his middle finger but Ian thinks he looks positively smug about the whole thing.

“Should I get myself a sexy school girl outfit?”

He teases, arching both brows suggestively

“Ew. No. Don’t even joke about that shit. If I want you to play dress up, I’ll get you a suit I can rip off.”

Mickey wrinkles his nose disdainfully as Mandy grimaces and tugs Ian toward the door.

“So gross. Later, Romeo!”

She calls over her shoulder and Mickey rolls his eyes, drying another glass.

“She’s a dick. No wonder she’s single as fuck.”

He gives Juan a little half-smile and poor Juan nods as if his life depends on it.

*

“So? Juan?”

“So? Mickey?”

Mandy counters and Ian huffs an amused sigh

“I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours and made him talk about his feelings twice.”

“Well you’re still alive after that so I guess you have any other answer you need.”

“Funnily enough I think he feels the same.”

Ian laughs squeezing her arm and slows his stride so that Mandy doesn’t have to skip to keep up.

“He seems different though. Gentler, you know?”

“Yeah he is. I think it’s cause he feels safe here. It’s his place, his space and no one bothers him.”

“You think I’ll fit in?”

“Of course you will! Even if you didn’t fit, Mickey would kick the fuckin’ walls in to make space for you.”

Mandy nudges Ian gently in the side with her elbow and he gives her a wonky smile.

“I think I freaked him out earlier.”

Ian tells Mandy about his mini-meltdown on the beach and she listens with complete non-judgmental sympathy.

“Don’t worry about it. You could have spaced the crazy out a little for him but you guys always seem to do everything all in.”

“I guess. I mean I think it’s fine. We fooled around afterwards, not like that … I mean yeah that too but …”

“Please! Ian, stop!”

Mandy laughs.

She asks about Lip, Debbie … all of the Gallagher’s and Ian tells her what he knows, which he realises is not really all that much anymore. Ian rolls his shoulders before changing the subject.

“Ok, seriously I need to hear about Juan?”

“Juan is a sweetie. Like, sometimes he’s too sweet. Keeps talking about marriage and babies and blah!”

“Sounds like he’s smart enough to see what a catch you are.”

Ian nods approvingly and Mandy bobs her head a little shyly

“He treats me right. Doesn’t yell at me, doesn’t hit me, makes sure I cum first.”

“Shit! He’s a better boyfriend than I am.”

“Ew. Gross.”

“How is my sex gross and yours is fine?”

“Yours is with my brother.”

Mandy thumps his arm lightly and Ian switches the subject back a bit.

“How long have you guys been together?”

“Just over a year.”

“Wow! Serious then?”

“It is. We are.”

Mandy is radiating happiness and Ian wraps an arm around her shoulder hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss to her head.

“Do you think you’d marry him?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Marriage is basically agreeing to put up with someone elses shit for the rest of your life and having to give them half your stuff if you bail.”

“Jeez Mandy! So romantic!”

“Well that’s what it is! And before that is was a way of a transferring a woman from being her father’s property to being some other assholes. It isn’t really a romantic idea.”

Ian glances down at her a little shocked and Mandy sticks her tongue out

“Okay, so fine. Would you get married?”

“Yeah. Maybe. I guess one day.”

“Milkovich or Gallagher?”

“Gallavich?”

Ian laughs and Mandy pauses mid-stride considering this.

“That could work. Milkovich is probably fucked with Mickey’s situation and who would even want to label themselves as part of our shit-show of a family anyway?”

“Gallagher isn’t much better. What is Juan’s surname?”

“Sanchez.”

“Be more Mexican?”

Ian grins and Mandy punches him again, a little harder

“I like it. Mandy Sanchez sounds cool.”

“Yeah it does.”

Ian agrees and then hangs back as Mandy bounces up to the window of the churro stand and waits for her to come back with one of the sweet little pastries and as they walk back to the bar, she shows him the photos she captured on the beach. Ian chooses his favourites and Mandy sends them over. By the time they get back, Ian has a new phone wallpaper and is smiling broadly.

*

The final couple of guys stagger out of Galagers just after 1am. The place is cleaner than usual thanks to Ian helping out and Mickey, cigarette already dangling from his lip, tells them all the call it a night, they’ll clean up properly tomorrow.

Juan says he feels like getting a little high and invites them all back to his place. Mandy pretends to think about it and then nods. Mickey declines slips and arm around Ian’s waist, gliding his hand discreetly under the sweaty fabric of Ian’s t-shirt.

“Cool, laters amigos!”

The second the door closes behind Juan and Mandy, Mickey’s lips meet Ian’s with bruising force. Ian grabs Mickey’s denim-clad ass firmly and lifts him up, practically throwing him onto the bar top and running his hands from Mickey’s knees to his hips, hard.

“God! You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do that all night.”

“Yeah?”

Mickey smirks and wraps a leg around Ian, pulling him in with a heel in the crack of his ass.

“Mmhmm. Watching you strut up and down, running that smart-mouth at everyone …”

Ian takes Mickey’s cigarette from his mouth and puts it in his own drawing deep, lightly dragging at Mickey’s lip with the pad of his index finger as exhaled smoke curls down over it. The corners of Mickey’s mouth turn up at the way Ian’s eyes follow the movement.

“You like it when I run my mouth?”

Ian nods, crushes the cigarette under his heel and ducks his head, lightly kisses along Mickey’s lower lip.

“I like everything your mouth does.”

A very fine shudder runs through Mickey, happiness and lust sending his nerves skittering across each other. He always loved it when Ian would get like this, a little imposing, putting himself firmly in Mickey’s personal space and turning it into his own. Making it so that even the breath in Mickey’s lungs might actually belong to Ian, and if he demanded it, Mickey would have no choice but to surrender that too and suffocate beneath the fierce green gaze.

In a way that Mickey cannot possibly begin to explain, the more domineering Ian gets, the safer Mickey feels to just give every ounce of himself over to Ian to do with what he will. In a very specific way, to be controlled is to be free in Mickey’s world.

Perhaps that is what makes him still Ian’s exploring hands and look up at him from beneath shyly lowered lashes.

“You mind if we wait a minute?”

“Really?”

Ian removes his lips from Mickey’s throat immediately but doesn’t relinquish his hold on his waist.

“I just … I want you to see something. It won’t take long.”

Mickey hops down from where Ian put him and catches his hand, leaving Ian no choice but to follow as Mickey leads him toward the door.

They step outside and Mickey stops abruptly. With his black hair and dark clothes he effectively blends into the darkness and Ian squeezes his fingers tightly to make sure he doesn’t let go. The fierce heat of the day has been replaced with a refreshing chill and Ian shivers slightly, though he is glad of the change.

“Close your eyes.”

“It’s fricken’ night time Mick. I’m basically blind already.”

“C’mon, don’t be a dick.”

Ian laughs but obligingly does as he is told. Mickey doesn’t often do things like this but Ian adores it when he does, so he tries to be extra cooperative in the hope of inspiring more little surprise moments.

“Don’t look until I say, okay?”

“Okay.”

Ian doesn’t need to have his eyes open to know that Mickey is peering up at him trying to make sure he is being obeyed.

“They’re closed, Mick!”

Ian hears a satisfied grunt and grins into the darkness. Mickey’s hands guide him down the steps and onto the beach, Ian is a little wobbly on the sand as they get closer to the sea and the ridges become deeper. His shoes are filling up and he makes a mental note to buy flipflops tomorrow.

“OK, I got you, sit down, don’t look.”

Ian sits as gracefully as he can and almost breaks his promise in happy shock as he feels Mickey sit down behind him, settling Ian snuggly between his knees and urging him to lie backwards until Ian’s head comes to rest on his chest.

“Ready?”

“Um … yeah?”

“OK, Go ahead and open ‘em.”

Ian blinks and then his jaw drops. The entire galaxy is spread above them, a swirling chaotic mass of stars shining brilliantly in the blackness.

“Holy shit!”

His voice is barely above a whisper and he feels the resulting chuckle reverberate in the chest behind his head a split second before he hears it.

“Cool, huh? Blew my fuckin’ mind the first time I came out here.”

There is the sound of a lighter, the brief scent of burning paper and then the sweet smell of marijuana floats down to Ian. His head bobs as Mickey’s chest expands, then releases the breath and cool fingers brush against Ian’s lips offering him the joint.

Mickey’s other arm is wrapped around Ian’s chest, keeping him close. Ian reaches back and carefully tucks a stray lock of hair back behind Mickey’s ear, caressing from helix to lobe with his thumb.

“What a difference a day makes, huh?”

Ian whispers, smiling and there is an answering smile in Mickey’s voice.

“No shit. When I saw you this morning …”

The joint is withdrawn from Ian’s lips as Mickey trails off and Ian sees the tip grow suddenly bright as Mickey turns his head and inhales.

“It was weird right? Like, I don’t even know how I got from the steps to you. I sort of blacked out.”

“You fuckin’ tripped down three of them and then took a running dive at me.”

Ian nods, it might be the pot but this actually sounds like exactly what he thought happened.

“I was fuckin’ terrified. I thought you might hit me. I kind of wanted you to hit me.”

Mickey’s hand tightens involuntarily as he shakes his head

“Hitting you was the last thing on my mind, man. I wanted to kiss you so badly … thought I was gonna fuckin’ cry or some gay shit.”

Ian cracks up at the irony and after a seconds pause Mickey is laughing too and the laughter builds until Ian can’t breathe and Mickey is coughing a lung up.

“Fuck off, you know what I mean.”

This sets them both off again and Ian retrieves the smoke, taking another drag.

“What were you saying to me? When you had your face in my chest?”

“Huh?”

“You kept saying something but I couldn’t hear it.”

“Ah … I don’t …”

“Don’t say you don’t remember!”

Ian tries to sit up and Mickey makes an affronted noise and quickly pulls him back down.

“Alright, alright. I … I was saying I knew you’d come. It was corny as fuck but you kinda shocked me just showing up. I think I lost my mind a bit.”

Ian reaches beneath Mickey’s leg and toys with the firm curve of his ass cheek.

“Did you really know?”

“I figured one day… yeah. I hoped so anyway.”

Mickey shrugs and the doobie is exchanged again. His free hand drops away from Ian’s chest, giving him a little more room. He is more than willing to have Ian touch him however he wants as long as he doesn’t try and move.

“I tried to forget you.”

“Yeah, I figured that too.”

There is no hurt in Mickey’s voice and Ian marvels at it even though he knew it would be that way before he said it. If Mickey said such a thing to him, he would probably fall apart again.

Fingers stroke gently through Ian’s hair and he looks up, not at the miraculous sky above but at the smooth curve of Mickey’s jaw, pale and almost silver in the starlight.

“How the fuck did I get so lucky to find you?”

“My sister blabbed.”

“I mean … like, in life?”

Ian grins but manages to fight down the next round of giggles.

“You’re so great Mick. You accept me better than even my own family and even after years apart, you’re just like … there! You’re just right there.”

“Okay, no more of this for you…”

Mickey jokes and licks his thumb and forefinger before pinching the thinning end of their smoke.

“I’m being serious. I rock up and cry all over you, I freak out and get pissed at you and you still show me the stars! Why are you like this with me?”

Ian traces the jaw he can’t stop staring at with the back of his hand. Slim fingers close around his and Mickey dips his head to kiss Ian’s fingertips.

“You set me free, Ian. I don’t know what I … I mean, really, without you, I’d have probably killed myself or done something crazy. I was in the fucking gutter, crawling out of my skin but you showed me I was okay. You made me okay.”

They sit silently for a little while then, looking up at the stars, both of them well aware that they are not in the fucking gutter anymore.

At some point Ian stands, re-positioning himself behind Mickey and gently pulling him close, kissing the black silk of his hair. They share another joint and Mickey has a cigarette as well. They swap softly spoken stories, painting the years for each other, drawing honest pictures and occasionally pausing to kiss or whatever else is needed for reassurance. Eventually the sky begins to turn from inky black to navy and patches of indigo begin to appear toward the horizon.

Mickey huffs a sigh and rolls his neck. Ian stands and gently pulls him to his feet.

“Home?”

“Yeah.”


	16. All In.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Gallavich love and fluff and story progression :)   
> xxx

Mickey wakes with a start. He is freezing cold and shivering. In the confusion between sleep and waking, his ears strain for the sound of Terry’s laboured breathing nearby and Mickey’s breath catches in his throat. A snore beside him brings him fully awake and Mickey exhales in a soft ‘whoosh’, swallowing heavily.

He rolls over and raises a bleary half-smile at the human caterpillar beside him, completely cocooned in the quilt. He tries to tug the edges of it over to his side of the bed to no avail. He attempts to roll Ian and finds that the hundred sixty-pound man he went to bed with seems to have doubled in weight and is now immovable.

His phone tells him it is nearly six. He has managed to get maybe three hours sleep but that’s fine. In fact, everything is fine in Mickey’s world just now, despite being cold and tired, because he has just discovered that Ian is horrible at sharing a bed with someone and that almost certainly means he is out of the habit of doing so.

Finally, he gets out of bed and tugs on sweatpants, a zip-up hoodie, and a pair of socks and sits on the edge of the mattress, his head cocked and a sleepy smile on his face as he watches Ian’s chest rise and fall.

Mickey hovers uncertainly for a moment. He wishes that gentle affection came as naturally to him as it does to Ian because he desperately wants to tuck himself around the younger man and feel the weight of him against his body. Mickey can initiate bruising kisses and tightly gripped fingers, he can do bitten shoulders and thrusting hips, but the sort of cuddling Ian likes so much?

He bites his lip and rolls it between his teeth thinking. It has been a long time but he could do this with Ian once, had found ways to be softer, gentler, to give Ian exactly what he wanted and needed and enjoyed doing so.

Mickey pulls in a steadying breath and then settles himself on his side, curling as close to Ian as he can get and lays a hand on his hair, running his thumb over the short auburn lengths, admiring the perfect slope of Ian’s nose and picturing the smattering of light freckles that Mickey can’t see in the dark but knows are there as surely as he knows the tattoos on his fingers.

“I love you.”

He whispers. It feels so good to say it in the quiet darkness of pre-dawn, not trying to be heard or understood but just for the pleasure of speaking the words aloud. It takes a little while but eventually Mickey manages to fall asleep again.

*

Ian floats to the edge of sleep, dips below again and then breaks the surface with a groan. His alarm is ringing from the floor and his body reacts without much urging, leaving his mind free to struggle through the labours of waking. There is a heavy hand resting on his face and he lifts it away as softly as he can. Ian presses the centre button on his phone with his big toe. At last, his brain catches up. He becomes aware that he is naked but has the quilt around his shoulders like a cape and guilt joins the fray of his morning emotions as he glances at Mickey, bundled up on the bed fully clothed. Ian picks up his bag and rifles through looking for his medication. He knows he dumped them back in after taking them last night but the little zip-lock bag alludes his fingers and he up-ends the thing onto the floor in frustration.

The pill bag flops out and Ian hastily takes the dosage and holds them on his tongue whilst he looks round for something to wash them down. There is nothing except a half-finished bottle of beer and Ian grimaces as he knocks it back.

It is the most disjointed start to the day Ian has had in quite a long time but behind him there is a soft snore and the irritable confusion and bitter taste of flat-beer recede to nothing. 

Ian smiles warmly and creeps back to the bed. Mickey is on his side, facing the space Ian has just vacated. His hair is sticking up in all directions and his lips are slightly open, revealing a tiny glimpse of perfect white teeth. He looks so much younger with his face completely relaxed in sleep and Ian wants nothing more than to hold him and have Mickey wake up with Ian’s arms around him.

He hesitates, lingering at the foot of the bed. There will be so many days for them to wake up entwined together but maybe this morning, on their first morning after so long, Ian could do something a little special, a little more of the sort of thing Mickey likes.

Ian can be rough and he knows it drives Mickey wild but it seems a little to presumptuous to wake him like that. It has been a long time but he could do this with Mickey once, knew him well enough to take liberties that no one else would ever think to take and thrill his boyfriend in the process.

After a moment’s further hesitation, Ian takes careful grip on one sock, eases it gently over Mickey’s ankle, and tugs it until it slides over the arch of his foot and off. He does the same with the other one and bites his lip at the next challenge.

Ian begins working the cuffs of Mickey’s sweat pants over his feet and once they are free, he edges the waistband experimentally over Mickey’s hips.

“Wha …”

Mickey wakes with a grunt and lifts his head, blinking like a startled owl.

“Don’t move.”

Ian says softly and tucks his fingers more securely into Mickey’s pants.

“Should I …”

“Shhh.”

Ian impatiently hushes him as the elastic slips over the curve of Mickey’s ass, exposing smooth, pale cheeks and the beginnings of a very powerful erection. Ian yanks the sweatpants off pulling, no longer bothering to be gentle. Mickey begins to sit up and Ian pushes him roughly back down.

“Put your hands against the wall.”

Ian begins to kiss up Mickey’s leg but as a hand settles in his hair, he stops and slaps Mickey’s wrist sharply.

“Ow! What the fuck?”

Mickey rubs at the finger outlines on the back of his hand and tries to glare at Ian accusingly but his pupils are huge, leaving only a slender ring of sapphire around the edge and he is smiling almost shyly.

“I told you to put your hands against the wall.”

Ian’s voice is calm and firm and Mickey’s tongue twists against the corner of his mouth in anticipation but his hands still hover over his chest not quite willing to surrender.

“Seriously? Where is this Fifty Shades crap comin’ from, Gallagher?” 

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Ian shrugs and resumes his kissing. The air above his head stirs as lettered fingers flutter toward his hair and Ian lunges up the bed. He takes Mickey’s wrists and presses them against the wall, hard before sliding down until they are practically nose to nose.

“Keep your fucking hands where I told you to keep them or I will get up and go and make us some coffee and you can jerk yourself off alone.”

Mickey lifts his eyebrows in pleasant surprise but does not move his hands from where Ian has put them.

“Fuckin’ tough guy this mornin’, huh?”

“Damn right.”

Green eyes narrow to slits as Ian grins at Mickey, kissing him with a fierce passion that leaves them both gasping.

“Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning.”

Mickey gives him a wonky smile radiating happiness that reaches all the way to his eyes.

Ian kisses his nose and shimmies back down the bed before making his way slowly back up again, occasionally nipping at the flesh of Mickey’s calves and thighs, biting a little harder the higher he gets. Every now and then, his eyes flick upwards to ensure that Mickey’s knuckles are still pressed to the plaster and each time they seem to have moved, Ian stops until Mickey repositions himself. The look on his lover’s face ignites a fire in Ian’s belly but he forces himself to take his time.

Ian begins to lap gently at the slit of Mickey’s cock, swirling his tongue in a way that has the older man arching his hips and grimacing in exquisite agony.

“Can I touch you yet?”

The question is cautious and a little breathless. It is not aggressive, cocky, or flippant but a genuine query. Ian finds himself even more aroused by that, and his own erection quivers against the bed frame. Ian shakes his head and smirks at the small whimper the refusal elicits from Mickey.

“No. In a minute.”

Ian reaches for the lube on the nightstand beside Mickey and is gratified to see the way Mickey’s gaze follows his movement, utterly rapt. Ian applies a generous amount to his fingers and Mickey lifts his hips without being told.

Ian works his way in, feeling the strong muscles contract and quiver around his fingers as he warms him.

Mickey’s his teeth are set so deeply into his bottom lip the skin has paled around them it contrasts beautifully with the flush that has risen in his cheeks.

Ian decides to reward him for playing along so well and finally takes him into his mouth fully, deep-throating him as far as he can and making up the shortfall with quick pumps of his free hand. Mickey’s breathing begins to quicken and Ian stops, lifting Mickey’s left leg onto his shoulder and applying more lube to his cock before positioning himself and easing the very tip of himself into Mickey.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Ian, I can’t …”

Mickey pants, he looks almost panicked and Ian strokes his balls reverently, teasing out the moment just a fraction longer.

“Go ahead. Touch me.”

There is a blur of pale skin and dark hair as Mickey surges up, thrusting himself onto Ian, reaching to twist his fingers into his hair and pull him forward, tongue gelling with Ian’s own in a kiss that leaves Ian seeing stars. When Mickey pulls back his lower lip is bleeding ever so slightly and Ian can taste iron on his tongue. His voice is deeper than usual, almost ragged in its urgency

“Fuck me! Give it to me hard Gallagher!”

Mickey is beside himself, all semblance of control gone and Ian follows his instructions gladly, his own composure finally slipping as he pounds into Mickey over and over again. He knows what Mickey wants and licks his lip before pulling Mickey’s head back, forcing him to hold Ian’s gaze

“You like that? That what you want, bitch? You like my dick in your ass?”

“I fucking love it!”

Mickey’s eyes are wild and Ian knows he is close, his hand drops back down to Mickey’s cock and works him hard and fast. They last for a few heartbeats more, then tumble over the brink of ecstasy together.

*

“Holy fuck.”

Mickey laughs breathlessly, smoothing the sweaty hair at Ian’s temple.

“Was that okay?”

Ian looks up from his place on Mickey’s chest and grins as Mickey rolls his eyes

“Did I give any indication that is wasn’t fucking okay?”

“No.”

“Well then don’t ask stupid fucking questions.”

Ian chuckles and kisses Mickey’s nipple, settling comfortably. He loves how easily Mickey slips back into himself after something like that. No discussion needed, no awkward power shift, it is just easy.

“You want some coffee?”

“Yeah, but in a bit.”

“Sure.”

Mickey kisses Ian’s forehead and wraps his arms a little bit tighter around him.

“Love ya.”

It is said casually but seems somehow more poignant for it and Ian finds the words just as effortlessly

“Love you too.”

It is the perfect start to the rest of their lives, a moment that will blur into others over the years but for that morning; with the sound of gulls and fishermen drifting in on the breeze, it is complete and it is everything that either man had ever dared hope and more.

*

Later, as they are getting dressed Ian picks up one of his boots and laughs

“Man, I got half the beach in here.”

“Yeah that happens, after a while you don’t notice.”

Mickey nods sagely as he towels himself dry from the shower.

“Really?”

“Yeah and you’ll never get it all out. It’s a pain in the ass but that shit’s there for life now.”

Mickey grins and shrugs at Ian’s frown, walking over and wrapping his arms around him.

“I always thought it was kind of like you. You’re the sand in my shoe, Gallagher.”

Ian rolls his eyes and grins, ducking to kiss Mickey’s smiling mouth.

“I can live with that.”

*

Mickey goes to make coffee and Ian takes his time getting ready before following him downstairs.

The sun is shining, it is a beautiful day and Mickey is at the bottom of the beach steps, crouched in front of a little girl, who can be no more than eight years old. She carrying a basket of bread almost the same size as her and beaming at Mickey with obvious adoration.

“How about that one?”

“Seventy Pesos. I told you!”

“C’mon! I’m a regular customer! You can’t do sixty?”

“No!”

The girl giggles and shakes her head fiercely, dark curls bouncing around her ears.

“What about if I take a bite out of it?”

Mickey pretends to grab at the loaf he wants and she snatches the basket back, clearly familiar with this routine.

“Seventy! Seventy! Seventy!”

She chants in a sing-song voice and Mickey holds up his hands in mock-defeat before fishing in his pocket for the cash.

“Jeez! Okay! You never hear of bartering?”

“No. Hustle or die!”

“That’s right, kiddo! But if your Ma asks, I never taught you that.”

“Mama says you are naughty!”

“Mama is right. Say hi to your Pa for me, ok?”

“K.”

The girl hands over the loaf, and briefly bumps fists with Mickey, before turning on her heel and marching back down the beach. Ian cocks his head to the side and watches Mickey follow her progress with a vaguely protective eye. It is both heart-warming and heart-breaking to see Mickey being so great with a kid who is basically Yevgeny’s age. Ian does not think there is much coincidence surrounding Mickey’s obvious fondness.

“Hey!”

Ian calls and Mickey scrabbles to his feet, grinning at Ian almost guiltily

“Cute kid! Who is she?”

“Yeah, she’s the Churro guy’s little girl.”

Mickey runs a hand self-consciously through his hair as he climbs the steps, pulling a small chunk of the loaf off and holding it out to Ian.

“Want some? Still warm.”

“Do I get something else first?”

Ian raises both eyebrows and then rolls his eyes at Mickey’s slightly confused expression, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a deep kiss, his tongue thrusting impatiently against Mickeys.

“Mmm. Damn! You ready to go again, Gallagher?”

Mickey runs his free hand lightly down Ian’s chest, his nostrils flaring in appreciation. Ian smirks but lets go of Mickey and steps back. The morning’s events have chased away the last tiny traces of awkwardness between them and they are finding their rhythm again.

“So you buy bread from local kids rather than stealing it from shops now?”

Ian teases and Mickey laughs, scratching his chin awkwardly as if caught in some mischief rather than the opposite of it.

“Yeah. I like it, good stuff and helps them out, you know?”

“I think it’s nice. Sort of old fashioned … like having a milk man! It’s quaint!”

Ian looks far too taken with that whimsical notion and Mickey pulls a face.

“It’s not Little House on the fuckin’ Prair…”

Ian kisses him again, partly to shut him up and partly because it just feels so damn good to do it. Ian reluctantly lets go of Mickey and then grins as the previously offered piece of bread disappears into Mickey’s mouth.

“Mmm!”

If anything, the noise of appreciation is slightly louder than the one Ian’s kiss received and Ian makes a mental note to reclaim the championship of Mickey’s happy noises as soon as they’ve had breakfast.

“Sure you don’t want some? This shit ain’t anything like that Wonder White store bought crap. This is, like, real bread!”

“No.”

Ian says, managing to sound only slightly peevish, still cross with the loaf for stealing Mickey’s affections.

“Yeah you do, you just don’t like me moaning about anything except your c … Christina!”

The flash of pink t-shirt that caught Mickey’s eye spares the girl the rest of that sentence and Ian the indignity of admitting that Mickey was completely right. Mickey hands Ian the loaf and tongues his cheek in a way that lets Ian know that an admission would be unnecessary, before turning to the girl, smiling.

“You come back to hustle me some more?”

“Papa says can you come by today please?”

“Sure nino,”

Ian raises a surprised eyebrow at the affectionate tone of address and sees Mickey’s eyes flick toward him but his attention is quickly back with Christina.

“Everything OK?”

“No.”

She doesn’t offer any more information and Mickey doesn’t ask for any he just nods and says

“I’ll be there in a bit. Oh, hey, this is Ian by the way. He’s my boyfriend.”

Ian chokes on the piece of bread he has been grudgingly enjoying, and sprays half-eaten crumbs across the porch decking earning him both joint blue and brown-eyed frowns.

“Hey.”

Christina nods and then turns back to Mickey

“Bye Mickey!”

“Later doll-face.”

Another pet name and Ian is seriously wondering if he is in some sort of strange dream-scape.

“Did you just call me your boyfriend?”

Ian manages to choke out and Mickey nods.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

Mickey gives him a look that suggests he would like to ascertain exactly what caused the choking fit but Ian waves it off pre-emptively.

“It took a long time for you to admit it to people before, that’s all.”

“Changed man, Firecrotch. Now come on, I gotta eat and get over to Reuben’s place.”

Ian can only presume that Reuben is ‘Churro Guy’ and nods

“Sure. You want me to come? Sounded serious.”

Mickey sucks in his upper lip, thinking for a second and then nods curtly. Ian realises with a jolt that the decision Mickey has just made is to trust Ian implicitly. He has claimed Ian officially as his boyfriend in front of a witness and now Mickey is going all in.

“Yeah you can come. I’ll catch you up over breakfast.”

Ian nods again and plucks another piece off of the loaf. He knows that tone, knows the slight arrogance that has come into Mickey’s stance. Whatever is going down is clearly on the down-low.

This is what Fiona was worried about, Mickey’s lifestyle and Ian being caught up in it. It makes his heartbeat quicken but Ian would be lying if he said it was all alarm. The truth is that he is actually excited by the prospect of being by Mickey’s side when shit hits the fan.

And more than that, Mickey has claimed him. Ian is his boyfriend and this time he is not going to let Mickey go it alone.

Ian makes up his mind that whatever it is, he has Mickey’s back. He is all in too.


	17. A Gamble.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more about Mickey's Mexico back story really but it also deals with the topic of Yev as some people have been asking if Ian is going to fetch him and bring him to Mexico for them all to live together and someone also asked why Mickey didn't do that already so I wanted to address that a little too.  
> Thank you so much for reading.  
> H

As Mickey makes eggs he tells Ian about Reuben. Churro guy, hopeless gambler and Mickey’s erstwhile patron when he first arrived, although it seems to have come full circle now.

“I only came here because I wanted to get to the beach, you know? I figured I was gonna get caught any day and if I’m being honest, I wasn’t planning on being taken alive, man.”

Mickey says this in such a matter of fact way that Ian chokes on his coffee, completely unprepared.

“Fuck, Mick! Seriously?”

“Yeah. Juvie was shitty but compared to actual jail … no way I was gonna spend the rest of my life there. Couldn’t do it.”

Mickey shakes his head as he whisks the eggs and Ian has to resist the urge to knock the bowl out of Mickey’s hands and crush him against his chest.

“Anyway the plan was to sit on a beach, get wrecked until the cops came. I stayed a few nights, slept in my car, got up in the mornings and got something to eat from Reuben’s place – I kept waiting for sirens but they never came and I started thinking that maybe I got away with it and if I got away with it I needed a plan.”

Mickey sips his coffee and smiles at Ian

“I considered doing a couple hold-ups or turning over a couple houses but that seemed like fuckin’ beggin’ for trouble so I took a chance on Reuben and I asked him how a guy could get money around here.”

“Really?”

Ian is surprised that Mickey would take a chance on anyone but actually thinking about it, the person who has been providing food every morning without asking any questions is probably the person Ian would have chanced too.

“Anyway long story short, Reuben is a gambling man and he was, kinda still is, part of a underground circuit in this bar. Though as soon as I bought it I shut that shit down. I don’t know where they play now. Don’t care either.”

Mickey slaps bacon in the frying pan and likes the salt from the pad of his thumb in a way that distracts Ian from the million and one questions he wants to ask long enough for Mickey to regain his thread.

“Turns out, Reuben is a wicked good player when he’s sober but once the drink starts flowing…meh.”

Mickey makes a tilting motion with his hand and shrugs

“We teamed up. I gave him all my money …”

“You did what? Was that the money I gave you? You just gave it to some guy?”

Ian looks a little pissed and Mickey clucks his tongue impatiently.

“Yes it was the money you gave me. But I was a little testy with you at the time, on account of you fucking off and leaving me, and giving it all to some dude to stick on black or whatever you do in poker made me feel a little better.”

“Ha! I knew you were pissed at me!”

Ian slaps his fist into his waiting palm triumphantly and Mickey rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“Yeah, I was but I got over it … Not over you, I didn’t say that!”

He counters the crestfallen look on Ian’s face quickly and then sighs.

“I needed to turn dollars into pesos and I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”

“Go to a damn bank, Mick. Jesus. That was my entire savings and you just gave it to some guy to gamble?!”

Ian grumbles but there is no real heat to his words. He picks up his coffee mug and rolls it between his hands, the warm porcelain smooth and reassuring. He knows he shouldn’t be mad at Mickey for gambling his savings, it isn’t like Mickey even wanted the money, but it still stings that Mickey had wanted rid of the help Ian had been able to give.

“A bank? With all the cameras and shit? Yeah, no, by all means get pissed because I didn’t go to a fuckin’ bank, Ian!”

Mickey snaps irritably and begins plating up their breakfast, slamming spoonfuls of eggs with more force than is necessary. Ian puts his coffee down on the table and steps up behind Mickey, wrapping his arms lightly around him and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have been shitty.”

Mickey’s shoulders remain tense for a few seconds longer and then relax a bit.

“Don’t worry about it. I probably shouldn’t have told you that bit.”

“No Mick, I want you to tell me anything and everything you care to. I guess I just feel bad and it hit a nerve.”

Ian squeezes Mickey slightly who allows himself to relax fully against Ian’s chest and smiles slightly.

“Take your damn breakfast and go sit down.”

They eat in silence, neither of them big on chatting over a meal, but the minute Mickey finishes his last mouthful, Ian is urging him to carry on with the story.

“Ok, well so we got in there, the game is in the basement and Reuben sits at the table and I’m just hanging back watching, I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what’s goin’ on but Reuben knows that if he fucks my money up, I’ll fuck his face up.”

“Yeah I bet he got that vibe.”

“Right, and the game goes on and one by one guys are dropping out and I’ve gotta take a piss so I head upstairs and when I get back the game is clearly fuckin’ over cause Reuben is grinning at me like a fuckin’ maniac waving fistfuls of cash and yelling that we won.”

Mickey grins at the memory

“Man, the other guys were pissed. This one guy started to come after us and I warned him but he kept comin’ so I shot him in the leg. Not the kneecap though cause for all I know he didn’t speak English so benefit of the doubt that he maybe didn’t understand me telling him I would shoot him if he didn’t fuck off. His friends were yelling at me and someone pulled a knife which was fuckin’ stupid cause I just shot his buddy so what the fuck does he think I’m gonna do to him? After that the rest got the idea and left us alone. You want more coffee?”

“Uh … no.”

“Mind if I finish it?”

“Go ahead.”

Ian waves him on, marvelling at the change of direction as Mickey happily helps himself.

“Thanks. I tripled my money that night and next day I went back and offered my services as a security guy, cause apparently there had been a shooting in the area. When I had enough money I bought the place off the owner who was fuckin’ desperate to get rid it and I kicked the gambling squad out cause who needs the fuckin’ aggro?”

“But Reuben still plays with them?”

“Yeah and he drinks cause I’m not there to knock it out of his hand. Hence, he loses money and owes money. He’s a dumbass, but he could have ripped me off and he didn’t, so I like to help him out.”

Ian collects their plates and washes them up whilst Mickey sips his coffee.

“You know, your money is what bought this place.”

“It was your money, Mick. I gave it to you.”

“Well all the same. The way I see it, Galagers is as much yours as it is mine. I want you to know that. You said you need to have a boat … this is your boat, Ian. It’s here if you want it.”

Ian can feel Mickey watching him for a reaction, maybe looking for any sign of Ian not being completely sure of this towering emotional inferno that has reignited between them in less than twenty-four hours of being back together.

“I’m all in, Mick. I already decided that. You don’t have to offer me half your bar.”

“It’s not charity, it’s just what’s right.”

Mickey shrugs and moves to stand beside Ian, looking up at him with sincerity

“and I’m all in too, just so you know.”

They don’t need to say more than that. Mickey picks up the dishcloth and dries the dishes as Ian places them on the draining board.

*

Reuben greets Mickey with a hopeful smile and the sort of two-handed handshake that Ian thought belonged solely in old movies like ‘The Godfather’. He ushers them into a small living room and they both sit on the tattered old sofa whilst Reuben’s wife serves them small mugs of hot, gritty coffee.

Reuben makes polite small talk until she leaves the room and then glances pointedly at Ian.

“He’s with me. We’re together.”

Mickey answers simply and the small frown on his face clears in understanding.

“They came back Mickey, they want more money this time and I told them I will not pay.”

“Did you tell them you’re my friend?”

“They did not believe me. You are legend. I am just old.”

He spreads his hands on his lap, his face a mask of hopelessness but Mickey only purses his lips, unmoved by the flattery.

“Do you owe them the money?” 

His tone is cold, almost stern and Reuben blinks at him, the muscles in his jaw twitching guiltily.

“I owe 20,000 pesos. They ask for 50,000. Interest.”

Mickey sighs and nods before picking a little of the coffee grain off the tip of his tongue. Ian is kind of intrigued by the dynamic here. As a younger man, Mickey would probably have been the one shaking Reuben down and Ian can see the faint urge to do some sort of violence to the rather pathetic looking man before him simmering beneath the surface. However, after a little consideration Mickey licks his lip and says

“Pay them what you owe. You can’t get outta that and I’m not gonna fuck someone up because you suck at poker when you’re drunk. But you can tell them to come and ask me for the interest if they really want it.”

“Thank you Mickey. You are truly my dear friend.”

Reuben visibly sags in relief and Mickey stands up. Clearly, the meeting is over.

“Stop fuckin’ gambling with these assholes. Next time this happens, I’m gonna charge you a security fee.”

Mickey frowns before flicking his eyes toward Ian and jerking his head toward the door and leading Ian out.

*

“Don Milkovich, huh?”

Ian grins when they are a small distance away. Mickey laughs and shoves his arm playfully, all traces of his irritation gone now that they are alone.

“Fuck off.”

“You’d look good with a silk cravat though.”

Ian steps in front of Mickey and runs a finger down the open V of his shirtfront.

“Should we be expecting trouble?”

“Nah man. These guys, they play hard but they don’t have the stomach for my kind of rumble. I was the only asshole with a gun in that place and they think I’m some sort of Russian mafia.”

“Why Russian?”

“Because they don’t know the fuckin’ difference between Russian and Ukranian, ignorant fucks. Changed my ID once I got settled here, just to make any nosy pig work a little harder. I go by Alexandre Tereshchenko officially, it was my grandma’s surname before she married Pop Milkovich.”

Ian blinks a little taken aback at this new nugget of Mickey related information.

“I never even thought to ask about your name.”

“Why would you? You know who I am.”

One side of Mickey’s mouth lifts in an affectionate smile and he pats Ian’s cheek lightly.

“None of this shit affects you and me. It’s old and Reuben is wearing my patience seriously fuckin’ thin anyway. He keeps it up he’ll be on his own.”

“What about Christina?”

Mickey shrugs as if it means nothing to him and Ian crosses his arms over his chest, impatiently.

“You clearly like her a lot.”

Ian presses and Mickey nods, narrowly resisting rolling his eyes.

“I do. She reminds me of … well I don’t know. Mandy when she was little I guess. Scrappy and bold as Hell. Kicks her brother’s ass all over the beach when they get into it.”

“Not Yevgeny?”

Ian could bite his tongue in regret as soon as the words leave his mouth because Mickey’s face goes completely cold and he drops his gaze, quickly stepping around Ian and walking on.

“No.”

“Oh. I just thought … I mean they’re the same age…”

“I haven’t seen Yevgeny since he was basically a baby. I don’t really know what he’s like so how the fuck would another kid remind me of him?”

Mickey’s tone is far sharper than he intends it to be and Ian compresses his lips guiltily and hunches his shoulders a little as he matches Mickey’s pace.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be a thoughtless prick.”

Mickey’s nose twitches slightly but he smiles up at Ian and reaches up to smooth the fabric of Ian’s shirt across the shoulder nearest him.

“Svet takes good care of him and he don’t get hit, yelled at or any of the other shit I would probably end up doing if I was there. Yevgeny is fine.”

“Hey! You wouldn’t be like that! I know you wouldn’t!”

Ian is genuinely shocked that Mickey thinks he would be a crappy father. Mickey just shrugs.

“Maybe, maybe not. Best that I’m not there for the kid to find out the hard way though.”

“But don’t you want to know him?”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter what I want. Me and Yevgeny were fucked the moment that judge sent me down. Fifteen years? Shit. He was never going to have a dad after that.”

“Svet brought him to see you though.”

Ian mumbles, feeling very much like he should not have started this.

“That would have been worse. Every Saturday he has to get in a car with his mom and drive two hours to see some guy he barely knows to talk to him for ten minutes and then drive two hours back? Fuck that!”

Mickey frowns disdainfully at the idea of it.

“You’re free now though, we could maybe ask Svet about visitation …”

Mickey stops so suddenly Ian has to double back and turn to face him and when he does, Mickey places a hand flat against his chest and looks up at him almost imploringly

“Ian, please? He’s fine. I’m fine. Now you and me are fine too and that is all I need, okay? Please let this go.”

Ian considers trying to get his point across one more time but one look at Mickey’s face convinces him not to push it and he huffs out a sigh instead.

“OK. Sorry.”

Mickey doesn’t respond and the topic is clearly closed between them. Ian isn’t surprised either really. He should have had the sense to see that the subject of Yevgeny was not going to be a popular one and as always, his timing was fucking terrible.

They have come to the main high street and Mickey pauses on the corner to light a cigarette.

“I need a haircut. I look like a fuckin’ hobo compared to you.”

“I like it a little longer. Makes you look all trendy.”

Ian offers, toying with the slightly shaggy top lengths. Mickey inhales deeply and laughs in a cloud of smoke

“Well fuck that! I’m definitely cutting it.”

Ian grins and begins to step into the street to walk up to the barbers but Mickey catches his arm and pulls him lightly back before hastily letting go.

“You wanna … look, we don’t have to, but if you want to …”

Ian follows Mickey’s gaze as it flicks downwards and he gives Mickey a sweetly lopsided smile at the sight of the pale palm offered to him.

He laces his fingers through Mickey’s own and places a soft kiss on his boyfriend’s temple. Mickey takes another pull on his cigarette to cover up how pleased he is and, they cross the street hand in hand.


	18. Simple as that.

The rest of the week goes by in a blur of sex and sand. Ian has almost forgotten about his return flight to Chicago but on his final afternoon, the pending separation looms over him like a harvest moon, casting long shadows.

He reaches for Mickey’s hand a little more frequently and stands a little closer. He tries to commit every detail of his lovers face to memory, tries to absorb his laughter into himself so that he might carry it with him and generally becomes as clingy as a new puppy.

“What are you gonna do when I have to take a piss?”

Mickey asks tersely as Ian bumps into him for the fourth time since Mickey started trying to change the bottles. Mickey gives him a sort of half-hearted frown, reaching for a cloth to wipe the spilled vodka. Ian understands him being a bit annoyed because he is loitering too close and following Mickey’s movements like a puppet on a really, really short string.

“Sorry.”

Ian takes a hesitant step back, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his board shorts to prevent them straying toward Mickey.

“I’m just giving you shit, man. What’s up?”

Mickey smiles slightly, his own fingers tucking into the waistband of Ian’s shorts and tugging him forward playfully.

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Mickey nods as Ian sucks in his lower lip and casts his eyes downward miserably.

“Well … I wish I wasn’t.”

Mickey makes a sympathetic tutting sound and reaches up to cup the back of Ian’s head lightly in his palm, running his thumb over the neatly clipped hair.

“Good, means you’ll come back quicker.”

Ian’s lip quirks upwards and then widens to a proper grin as Mickey slips his free hand into his shorts and takes a firm grip on his dick, kneading the soft flesh.

“Jesus, you really are miserable. Can’t have that, can we?”

Mickey winks and pats Ian’s cheek affectionately, before dropping to his knees and taking Ian’s shorts with him.

“Right here?”

Ian sounds positively scandalised and stares helplessly at the open door and the family on the beach a few yards away.

“We’ve done worse here; Mandy reckons the kegs smelled of ass.”

Mickey’s smile is downright filthy and Ian can’t help but laugh.

“At least let me close the door, there’s kids out there!”

“They can’t see anything and you oughta be looking at me, not them.”

Ian makes the mistake of shifting his gaze to the top of Mickey’s head, the beautiful straight edge of his nose and the dark sweep of his lashes against his cheeks and his body betrays his outrage without second thought.

“Atta boy! There we go…”

Mickey takes Ian into his mouth, and what little resolve Ian has falters and then gets lost in the deep blue of Mickey’s eyes.

Mickey reaches behind Ian and grips his ass hard, making the redhead shiver happily and tighten his own grip in Mickey’s hair.

“Ah … excuse me …?”

Ian’s eyes snap open and fix on the woman now blocking the doorway. She is maybe forty with the sort of cheerful disposition of someone who enjoys Labrador calendars and knitting circles.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

Ian’s voice is far too loud and he is frantically trying to move his hips but Mickey doesn’t stop and Ian wonders briefly if his boyfriend has gone deaf and doesn’t know that there is a woman talking to Ian. He glances away from her and down at Mickey.

If Ian had not seen it for himself, he would never have believed that a single arched eyebrow has the ability to convey such unreservedly gleeful mischief! The fingers on his ass tighten a fraction and Ian gasps before turning his attention back to the woman.

“Sorry … how can I help?”

“Do you serve ice cream?”

Ian’s thighs are quivering with the effort of holding still. Mickey’s mouth is hot and wet and absolutely fucking perfect and every now and then he sweeps his tongue in a way that makes Ian’s eyes lose focus.

“N… no… sorry!”

Ian stammers, he is going to kill Mickey! No, he is going to fuck Mickey. Oh God! He’s going to fuck him every which way and leave his boyfriend a panting, gasping wreck …

“How about soda cans?”

“What?”

“Soda, honey? Are you OK? You’re shaking and you look a little clammy.”

“I’m …”

Ian tries to answer just as Mickey takes him to the back of his throat and makes a very low humming noise, applying the very gentlest pressure with his teeth.

“OH GOD!”

Ian slaps his hand down on the bar, laughing and almost crying. It is the most exquisite torture he has ever known and he can feel Mickey smiling around the length of him. The hands are now massaging his ass, smoothing over the patches that will surely blossom into tiny perfect bruises.

“Honey, what is it?”

The lady takes a few steps into the bar and Ian shakes his head desperately.

“Closed! Sorry, we’re closed!”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine just … bye!”

Ian chokes, he is gripping the counter so hard his knuckles are standing out starkly and he is so close … so close.

“Bye then!”

The lady looks a little concerned about leaving the sweating, shaking young man on his own but without the lure of ice cream or soda, she mercifully seems ready to take her cheerfulness elsewhere.

Ian glances down and sees a look in Mickey’s eyes that cannot be mistaken for anything but love. It is pure, whole, and so faultless that Ian drops his fingers to gently stroke the thick lengths of his hair despite still having a half captive audience.

Mickey pauses his movement giving Ian a couple of seconds respite and Ian manages to smile convincingly at their would-be customer, who finally leaves. The moment she is out of sight Ian crashes his hips forwards demanding and urgent and Mickey doesn’t hesitate. Ian throws his head back and surrenders himself completely as Mickey finally takes him over the edge.

“I fucking love you!”

Ian is so exhausted that the words tumble out of him on the crest of a sigh. Mickey wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands up, settling Ian’s clothing back into place. He is smiling the exact same smile Ian remembers from Mickey’s days robbing Kash, a delinquent, reckless smile that is utterly beautiful in its menace.

“You’re a dick.”

Ian grins and gently rests his forehead against Mickeys.

“Yeah, kinda. But you need to relax. I’ll still be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

Mickey’s hand is resting against Ian’s face again and Ian realises that he is doing exactly the same thing as Ian himself has been, committing the details to memory and savouring the nearness of him in preparation to be separated.

“I will come back, Mick.”

“I know.”

Mickey nods but doesn’t move his hand.

“Listen, ah, it’s your last night and all, so I was wondering if maybe you wanna go and get something to eat with me later? It’s not Sizzlers but there is a steakhouse in town … the food is pretty good.”

Ian’s eyes light up and he cocks his head to the side, giving Mickey a patient smirk

“You trying to ask me out on a date?”

Mickey smiles shyly and rubs a finger against the side of his nose.

“Yeah. You wanna go on a date with me?”

Ian nods and kisses his lips softly, almost chastely. He knows it is most likely the first time Mickey has ever asked anyone on a date and he wants his response to be perfect.

“I would really love to go on a date with you, Mickey.”

Ian says carefully, looking deeply into Mickey’s eyes as he enunciates each word, his fingers working at the buttons of Mickey’s jeans.

“Hey, come on, I gotta get these bottles done…”

“Five more minutes won’t hurt …”

Ian murmurs, gently tugging the well-worn denim over Mickey’s hips.

“I thought you nice, Irish boys didn’t put out on the first…”

Mickey starts to quip as Ian slides down his body but the words dry in his throat as Ian licks his middle and index finger, never breaking eye contact.

“Shut the fuck up, Milkovich.”

Ian smiles. Mickey was already mostly hard but Ian giving him that cocky smile and speaking a just a little roughly … Holy fuck!

“Spread your legs.”

Ian orders and slides his slick fingers along Mickey’s perineum, before gently probing at his entrance at the same time as he takes him into his mouth. Five minutes was an over-estimate. Ian twists his wrist, angling his fingers upward and exerting a little more pressure and Mickey convulses with a strangled cry, hands interlaced behind his head and panting with breathless laughter, startled by the force of his own orgasm.

“Damn, Gallagher!”

“You can do your bottles now.”

Ian grins nonchalantly, sidling past Mickey and giving him a firm smack on the ass as he crosses to the jukebox. By the time Mickey has re-buttoned his jeans ‘Love Is A Battlefield’ is starting up and Ian has his sunglasses on and is headed toward the door.

“Hey! Where you goin?”

“To work on my tan. I got a hot date tonight.”

Ian grins and heads out the door, singing loudly as he strolls down to the beach leaving Mickey beaming after him until he catches himself and quickly returns to his work.

*

Ian takes his time getting ready. He borrows a smart button down from Mickey and carefully styles his hair in the small bathroom mirror before giving the tomato plants their evening feed from a bottle of plant food that Mickey still maintains was there when he arrived.

Mickey is sitting outside on the porch when Ian finally comes down, but he practically leaps up when he hears the door opening. The sounds of the bar in full flow briefly join them and then fade out as Ian nudges the door closed again.

“You look great.”

Mickey says instantly but Ian barely hears him he is so focused on the shirt that Mickey is wearing. It is a little worn and faded across the shoulders from constant wear but there is no mistaking it. It is the Hawaiian shirt that Mickey rescued from the luggage all those years ago.

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt.”

Ian smiles, the corners of his mouth trembling slightly.

“Oh … yeah I can go change?”

Mickey looks down self-consciously, his smile faltering a little

“Don’t you fucking dare. You’re the sexiest thing I’ve seen.”

Ian blinks away the film of moisture from his eyes and kisses Mickey deeply, his mouth tastes of mint toothpaste but his skin is a little salty from his evening swim and it is a taste that Ian is coming to think of as home.

They break apart to let a couple of party goers squeeze past into Galagers.

“Ready?”

Ian asks, holding out his hand and Mickey licks his lip before nodding and placing his hand in Ian’s palm and linking their fingers.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

*

The restaurant is simple and the music is low. It is gently lit and intimate but informal in a very casual way. It is absolutely perfect. They get a couple of looks when they enter, whether it is two men holding hands or Mickey’s loud shirt, Ian isn’t sure but he doesn’t care.

They get seated toward the back of the restaurant which is ideal as it allows Mickey to relax completely, away from other diners. They are given a two seated square table and Mickey moves his chair to sit next to Ian rather than opposite him without comment.

“Have you come here much?”

“No, just a couple of times.”

Mickey is doing his usual glance around, an anxious habit nearly as old as he is and Ian waits patiently for him to be content that they are both entirely safe before picking up the drinks menu.

“Should we order a bottle of wine?”

“Don’t they have beer anymore?”

Mickey squints over Ian’s arm as his boyfriend laughs and kisses his head.

“Yeah but this is a date, it’s about the communal experience of dining together.”

Mickey gives him a puzzled frown and then shrugs.

“Alright. I like red.”

“Reds good. Which one?”

“Ah …”

Mickey peers at the menu before flicking his gaze up to Ian who is looking like a puppy with a new chew toy

“What?”

“Just you and me, choosing a bottle of wine in a candlelit restaurant …”

Ian waggles his head dreamily and Mickey rolls his eyes

“Keep it up, I’ll order beer and fries.”

Mickey says sternly but reaches a hand under the table and rubs Ian’s leg affectionately

They manage to order, though the waiter has a little difficulty understanding Mickey’s request for a bottle of ‘Ree-o-ja’ and Ian doesn’t have a clue how to pronounce it differently but guesses that they are way off, so just points at the menu.

“I don’t think that guy knows shit about wine.”

Mickey whispers and Ian feels his heart squeeze so desperately with love it almost makes him dizzy.

The steak is good but Mickey’s conversation is better. He seldom talks and eats at the same time and normally glares at anyone who tries to do so, but he makes a special effort and Ian makes an equally special effort not to take advantage and babble a million miles an hour.

When the bill comes they bicker over who is going to pay and settle on a game of thumb-war to decide which Mickey realises was a mistake when Ian’s huge thumb traps his almost effortlessly and Ian slaps his cash on the table triumphantly.

“You’re makin’ me feel cheap. I wanted to buy you dinner.”

Mickey grumbles but Ian just kisses his cheek and happily pays the waiter.

“Next time.”

It is a small promise but a wonderful one and Mickey cheers up instantly. The wine is heavier than their usual beer and Ian is pretty drunk by the time they leave and even Mickey is giggling and swaying a little.

“No fuckin’ fear man. No fear.”

He thumps his chest and then points at Ian

“I love you and I want the whole fuckin’ world to know it.”

“Yell it! Yell ‘Mickey Milkovich loves Ian Gallagher.”

Ian grins, wrapping an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pointing toward the horizon as if the words are emblazoned there already.

“No! Jesus! You want my ass hauled back to jail?”

Mickey asks and for some reason they both find that utterly hilarious. Ian takes a couple of steps back and then hops up onto Mickey’s back

“TO THE OCEAN!!!!”

He yells and points his arm ahead like a lance. Mickey dutifully sets off at a staggering trot. Ian jumps down after a few metres and they take off running together. They round the corner of the last street before the beach and lean against the railings catching their breath.

Night is mostly drawn in but there is still a red glow over the horizon. It makes Mickey’s eyes look violet as he stares outwards, and Ian is overcome with a sudden irresistible desire.

“Mick …”

Mickey turns to face him and understands instantly, his need rising up to rival Ian’s own. He grabs Ian’s hand and together they run down to the water, shedding clothes as they go. The waves are cool but not yet cold and as Mickey wraps his legs around Ian’s hips, letting the current bear his weight, he feels the delicious hardness of Ian’s muscles warm against his own chest.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

Ian mumbles into the salty tangle of Mickey’s hair. It is a practicality that Mickey had over looked and he shrugs, grinning fiendishly

“Fuck it, you’re away for a little while after this – won’t need it working anyway.”

It is a slightly difficult start but Mickey is more than ready and after a few tentative strokes of Ian’s fingers they manage to find their rhythm. Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck, his hand wrapped tightly around Mickey’s cock and closes himself off to everything except the sound of Mickey’s breathing and the waves lapping around their shoulders. Mickey has his teeth set lightly in the flesh of Ian’s shoulder as he begins to melt around him and Ian is suddenly aware of Mickey’s pulse beating hard and strong beneath his cheek. It is all that matters, it is everything.

*

That night they curl up together in bed, a thousand promises and words of reassurance lingering in the air between them, unspoken but understood all the same. This is their home. They are the sand in each other’s shoes. They are in this for life. It is as simple and as perfect as that.


	19. We did it!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this is the penultimate chapter of this fic. It has been a freakin' journey! Thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos. Thank you to a very, very special few for your encouragement and kind words and good humour. I hope you will enjoy this chapter set 1 year after we last saw Mickey and Ian preparing to say goodbye and Ian to go back to Chicago. 
> 
> Happy Friday everyone! Han xxx

1 year later: 

 

“Will you fuckin’ hurry up?”

“It’s this shirt, Boss! It sucks! The buttons are too small. I keep doing it wrong.”

“No shit, but it’s what my sister wants and I can’t handle any more fuckin’ tears so just move your ass …”

Mickey shoves Juan back into the bedroom and closes the door in his face before opening it again

“And stop calling me ‘Boss’. In a couple of hours we’ll be family.”

Juan grimaces and Mickey grins at him

“Bet that shirt don’t seem so bad in comparison, huh? Not too late to run!”

“Will you leave him alone?”

Ian grabs the back of Mickey’s suit jacket and tugs him backwards

“You look great, Juan. Button it from the bottom upwards, it’ll help.”

He gives the anxious groom a cheery thumbs up and promptly shuts the door to round on Mickey

“Stop being a dick.”

“I wasn’t b…”

“Yeah you were. She’s your little sister but she’s a grown woman getting happily married and you will not act up.”

“I wasn’t ac…”

“Quit it.”

Ian points a stern finger at Mickey, who widens his eyes and jabs his tongue into his cheek defiantly but obediently wanders away from Juan’s room muttering something about checking the cake. Ian watches him go before slipping into Juan’s room.

“Let me help.”

“Thanks.”

Juan lights a joint as Ian takes charge of the delicate pearl buttons

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

“Who? Mickey?”

Juan nods and exhales a cloud of fragrant smoke through full lips.

“Nah, he just has to strut around a bit when people touch his things. It’s like a little kid with his lego.”

Ian grins and pats Juan’s shoulder reassuringly.

“He likes you. It’s just that no one could ever be entirely good enough for Mandy.”

“But they give each other shit all the time! If I spoke to my sister like he does, she’d murder me in my sleep.”

“Yeah, they do that. And they’ll fight each other too. Like, actually fight.”

Ian laughs, deftly fastening the sprig of little white flowers to Juan’s waistcoat

“You just have to get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah I seen them do that. Over a magazine … that neither of them wanted! Can you believe it?”

Juan grins furtively at Ian who has known the Milkovich’s far longer and does not disbelieve it for a second.

“Yeah. And I bet Mandy pulled his hair and he tried to give her a wedgie? You just have to leave them to it because if you get in the middle, they’ll turn on you instead. But for all their shit, they actually love each other a lot.”

Ian helps Juan into his suit jacket and turns him to face the rickety mirror.

“You’ll get used to it. Welcome to the family.”

*

Mickey is rearranging the little pink flowers on top of the cake for the fifth time when a furious cry of complete outrage tears through the kitchen and Mandy storms in, resplendent in a figure hugging white slip dress, her hair in a half-finished plait.

“Where the fuck is Ian?”

“Helping your retard fiancé do his shirt buttons.”

Mickey quips and flicks an eyebrow upward at her

“What’s wrong now? You want me to tell the priest you’re just gonna keep with the sinners?”

“Don’t fucking start!”

“Jesus! What is it with you assholes today? I’m not doing shit except makin’ sure these fuckin’ flowers are straight!”

Mickey scowls and gestures to the flowers which really could not be any straighter already.

“Fine. Sorry.”

Mandy folds her arms over her chest as her lip begins trembling uncontrollably

“Ah shit!”

Mickey rolls his eyes but steps forwards and wraps his arms around his sister, letting her rest her forehead on his shoulder

“You gotta get this out now. You do it at the church, people are gonna think he’s a fuckin’ woman beater or some shit.”

Mandy snorts wetly and Mickey wrinkles his nose thinking of the potential for snot streaks on his suit but composes his face to neutrality by the time Mandy stands up.

“I can’t get my hair into a plait, it’s too long. I should have cut it and now I don’t have time to do a decent job of it … FUCK! I need Ian!”

“Ian can’t plait for shit. Sit your ass down.”

Mickey pulls out a chair and takes his jacket off, dropping it onto the table and pushing is shirtsleeves up.

“When was the last time you braided hair?”

Mandy smirks but she obligingly sits down and lets her brother comb is fingers through the lengths of her dark hair, picking out the pins she has jammed in randomly.

“Fuck knows, but I remember how it goes.”

“Was it my fifth grade photo?”

“Dunno.”

Mickey’s fingers find the rhythm and a meticulous, thick braid begins to form.

“It was! Ronda fuckin’ Harris ripped my collar and you made me a braid to cover it.”

Mickey grins darkly through a mouthful of pins

“Stamped her brother’s balls too. They were always fuckin …”

“Assholes.”

They say in unison and Mandy beams fondly up at her brother before he frowns and tells her to fuckin’ keep still.

*

Ian stands on the porch of Galagers and watches Juan make his way toward the high street. His family are already at the church and he is going to do the rounds before Mandy arrives.

The door behind him creaks open and he glances over his shoulder at the dark head bobbing toward him.

“He OK?”

“Course he is! He’s getting married!”

Ian turns and wraps an affectionate arm around Mickey’s shoulders and kisses his temple.

“How’s our bride?”

“Fuckin’ insane!”

Mickey scoffs, lighting a joint and taking a gentle toke before handing it over to Ian.

“They’re really happy, Mick. This is a good thing.”

Ian sighs, blowing smoke over his shoulder toward the sea. Mickey purses his lips and then nods but he is still wearing a half-scowl and the lines around his eyes are a little more pronounced than usual.

“He hurts her, he’s a fuckin’ dead man.”

“He knows that.”

Ian smiles, grabbing Mickey’s flower from the table before he can forget it. Mickey puffs out his chest and obligingly holds still whilst Ian fastens it in place. The joint is dangling from his bottom lip and he pulls on it lightly as he watches Ian work. Ian is in a soft grey which contrasts with the deep blue of Mickey’s own suit. Their shirts are the reverse. Yin and Yang as Ian called it. The colouring sets off the flame of his hair and the cut of the suit accentuates the breadth of Ian’s shoulders in a way that makes Mickey’s stomach flutter.

“You look really nice by the way. Kinda sexy in a suit.”

“Only ‘kinda’?”

Ian smirks and brushes Mickey’s shoulders lightly, although there is not a mark on him. Mickey tongues his lip cheekily and takes a firm grip on Ian’s lapels.

“Maybe a little bit more than ‘kinda’.”

“How much more?”

Ian lowers his brows, feigning confusion and takes a grip on the very prominent bulge in Mickey’s suit pants. Mickey sets his teeth in his bottom lip and steps in closer, looking up at Ian with an expression that promises everything any man could ever need.

“MICKEY? MICKEY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY FUCKING FLOWERS?”

Mandy roars from inside the bar and both men close their eyes, yanked out of their moment.

“Jesus! I thought brides were meant to be fuckin’ bashful!”

“You’re thinking of ‘blushing’. Tell her she’s beautiful and get her to the church.”

Ian murmurs, his breath warm and smoky against Mickey’s lips as they kiss

“Fine. But after today her crazy ass is Juan’s problem! He can find the fuckin’ flowers!”

“MICKEY!”

“I’M COMING! KEEP YOUR DAMN TITS ON!”

Mickey bellows back and Ian winces, suppressing a grin. Of course, this is a Milkovich wedding.

*

The ceremony takes place in the local church. Neither Mickey or Mandy is really religious but Juan is and so Mandy managed to trip her way through the interviews, blaming her lack of fluent Spanish for the questions she couldn’t answer and attending the weekly bake sales, Masses and even choir practice, in the run up to the wedding.

Ian stands as Mandy’s ‘Man of Honour’ and Mickey walks her up the aisle, only hesitating a little before placing her hand in Juan’s and managing to take his place at Ian’s side with only the most minor of menacing glares at his almost-brother in law.

They take their seats and Mandy and Juan kneel before the priest. They speak the words they are asked to speak and then stand to face each other and make their vows. Ian raises his eyes to the roof above, biting down on his lip, hard, determined not to cry but as Mandy recites her vows, looking up at Juan and radiating joy, a few slip over Ian’s lashes and tumble down his cheeks.

He glances to his left to make sure Mickey hasn’t seen and is met with the sight of his boyfriend biting his index finger as if he means to chew right through it, his eyes completely red rimmed and face awash with tears.

Ian wordlessly reaches across and grips Mickey’s free hand in his and Mickey squeezes back just as hard. This is their girl. Fierce and wild and now breathtakingly beautiful in her happiness. Free to make her life whatever she wants it to be.

The priest invites the couple to kiss and when they do, the emotional build up in the two Southsider’s erupts and both explode upwards, their whoops and cheers rivalling Juan’s entire family for enthusiasm.

*

They throw confetti on the church steps and Juan’s aunty captures a photo of them that Ian will carry with him for the rest of his life. It is of Mickey laughing, arm outstretched, the word ‘FUCK’ clearly visible across his fingers as a shower of dried rose petals flies from his hand, some of them blowing back to tangle in the thick black sweep of his hair.

The party is long and eventful. There is dancing and drinking and sex behind the beach huts. There is swimming and skinny-dipping when the older folk have gone home. Mandy and Juan leave just before midnight, exhausted and drunk more on love than on alcohol as they stagger off to Juan’s apartment to share their first night as man and wife.

Mickey and Ian continue the party with Juan’s friends and siblings and a few cousins too until eventually everyone else has drifted away or further up the beach in search of privacy and it is just Mickey and Ian, once again lying beneath an entire galaxy of stars.

“What a day!”

Ian grins, stretching his arms above his head, watching the stars, and letting fistfuls of sand trickle through his fingers. They’re both bare foot but miraculously their pants and shirts survived the day, although the jackets and ties are long gone, hopefully up the beach somewhere.

“Yeah.”

Mickey rolls onto his side, head propped on his elbow to look down into Ian’s smiling face.

“Mandy was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“Yeah she was.”

Mickey strokes Ian’s hair and his own lip curls upwards in a small smile

“It really was a good fuckin’ day. Wouldn’t mind havin’ one myself, you know?”

Ian’s eyes flick from the inky black of the star studded sky to the indigo depths of Mickey’s eyes above him, his heart suddenly pounding.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I mean … smaller and not as fancy but you know … I mean, if you wouldn’t mind having one either?”

“A wedding?”

“Yeah.”

Ian licks his lip and shakes his head quickly his mind boggling at what is finally happening.

“No, I wouldn’t mind that at all. I would love to have a wedding. Would you?”

“I just said so didn’t I?”

Mickey’s smile broadens into a lopsided grin and he ducks his head to kiss Ian, trailing his thumb over the high arc of his boyfriend’s cheekbone as Ian’s hands run down the lithe length of his body.

“So I guess we should plan one then?”

Ian ventures when their lips part and he feels Mickey nod against him.

“Guess so.”

Ian lets out a delighted laugh and rolls Mickey onto his back, pinning him into the sand and kissing him thoroughly.

“Are you gonna fucking ask me, or do I have to do it?”

He demands playfully, grinding his hips against Mickey in a way that makes the smaller man writhe in anticipation

“I can ask you but I ain’t doin’ it with your dick crushing my balls. Get off.”

Ian scrabbles to his feet and Mickey stands in front of him, dusting his palms off and looking up at Ian from under delicately arched eyebrows.

“Alright …”

Mickey shoves his creased shirtsleeves up his forearms and pushes a hand through his tousled hair trying to make himself as presentable as possible. He rolls his shoulders and tongues the corner of his mouth in that wonderfully familiar, exciting way. Ian is almost dying of impatience but forces himself to stand as still as possible and be patient, savouring every second.

“Ian Clayton Gallag … You laugh and I’m not fuckin’ doing it!”

Ian had in fact let out a squeak, it wasn’t laughter but he presses his lips together and waves Mickey on anyway.

“Right. Fine. Ok … Ian Clayton Gallagher, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

Ian throws himself on Mickey and they crash to the sand in a tangle of limbs and deep kisses until Mickey pulls away, laughing.

“Wait … hey! You made me say it, you gotta fuckin’ answer, man!”

“Yes! Yes, I will be your husband!”

Ian nods, holding Mickey’s face reverently between his hands and showering him with kisses until Mickey waves him away, grinning bashfully.

“Knock it off, man. This is gay enough already.”

Ian ignores him and kisses him again.

*

The wedding is small and private. The paperwork says Alexandre Mika Tereshchenko but the vows are given to Mikhailo Alexandre Milkovich. It is a risk but a very small one and Mickey absolutely insisted that he get married using his real name.

Ian wears his a bright white linen shirt. Mickey wears his beloved Hawaiian.

Mickey’s vows are short, succinct but utterly beautiful in a gruff sort of way.

Ian’s are longer, passionately flamboyant and earnest. 

Mandy wonders if they even realise how perfect they are.

The rings Ian has chosen for them are white gold. Simple, plain bands that slip over their tanned knuckles as they make their promises and are never removed again.

Mandy cries and Juan cheers and neither of the grooms really notice because they are so focussed on each other and the kiss they share is a celebration of all they have and all they have overcome to reach this point. It is promise for the future and a recognition of the past.

Juan’s sister takes their official photo in front of the ocean but captures another at the little BBQ Juan has set up for them and that is the one which hangs on their bedroom wall. Ian is leaning in to say something to Mickey, his arm around his husband’s waist and Mickey is smiling broadly, his arm slung casually around Ian’s shoulders, so obviously full of joy that it makes Ian’s eyes well up sometimes, even years later.

Ian insists on carrying Mickey over the threshold of their home but Mickey refuses to be swept off his feet, so they compromise on a piggy-back and stagger up the stairs, breathless and wheezing with laughter and Ian dumps Mickey onto the bed with an exaggerated groan.

“We did it, Mr Galager.”

“Yeah we fuckin’ did.”

Mickey grins as Ian flops down on his back beside him.

“It was always supposed to be like this, wasn’t it?”

“Nah,”

Mickey shakes his head with a deliberately weary expression

“You were supposed to be inside me by now.”

He looks across at Ian, face lighting mischievously and then rolls away laughing as Ian lunges after him.

Their wedding night manages to break the bed but neither of them care. They can buy a new bed or they can just leave the mattress on the floor for a while. It doesn’t matter. They have all the time in the world to decide.


	20. Done.

Mickey is rocking up onto the balls of his feet, trying to peer over the crowd.

“Can you see them yet?”

“No, but they’ll be here.”

“Where the fuck are they?”

“Relax.”

Ian squeezes his fingers, their wedding bands clinking together. Mickey is anxiously worrying at the corner of his mouth with his incisors and Ian ducks down to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Mickey jerks his head irritably but stops fidgeting, a little more at ease.

“There! I see them!”

Ian waves and grins as Mickey freezes to the spot.

“Mick, they’re by the Starbucks, just over …”

“Yeah. I see. Do I look OK?”

Mickey is tugging at his collar and looking very much like he is about to be sick. Ian rests his hands lightly on Mickey’s upper arms, smoothing the fabric of his shirt and giving him an earnest smile that calms Mickey’s nerves instantly.

“You look great and this is going to be fine. If he didn’t want to meet you, he wouldn’t be here.”

“What the fuck am I gonna say, man?”

“Start off with ‘Hello’ and take it from there.”

Ian grins, giving Mickey’s arms and encouraging squeeze before letting go and stepping back out of the way. Mickey’s breath catches and stammers out of him as his eyes light on the young man walking towards them, Svetlana at his side. He is taller than Mickey, and a slimmer build.

*More like Ian.*

Mickey thinks automatically before berating himself for being stupid. He has his teeth set firmly in his lower lip and his bright blue eyes are looking Mickey up and down with obvious eager curiosity. There is a slight swagger in his step but it is tempered by the way he hovers at Svetlana’s elbow, not quite bold enough to break away and walk alone.

“He looks just like you, Mick.”

Ian murmurs behind him and Mickey nods, not quite trusting his voice. He realises he is scowling a bit and thumbs his upper lip, making a conscious effort to neutralise his expression.

Ian waits for Mickey to say something, to call out a greeting or wave. When it doesn’t happen he nudges him pointedly and Mickey clears his throat as if waking from a trance.

“Hello!”

The word sounds weird and kind of final and Mickey winces slightly

“Fuck.”

Yevgeny grins, his mother has told him that his father swears almost compulsively and it is nice to have a fact confirmed.

“Hey. So which of you is my dad?”

Mickey looks momentarily at a loss and then Svetlana slaps her son’s shoulder and rolls her eyes

“Ignore him, he is as stupid as his father.”

“Hey!”

Father and son glare at her as one, twin sets of blue eyes narrowing and then widening when they notice the similarity and hastily looking away. Svetlana gives Ian a small knowing smile and they share a look of mutual understanding. Apparently, Yevgeny has inherited his father’s love of new social situations.

Ian decides a small rescue is needed and steps forward, embracing Svetlana and then holding out his hand to Yevgeny.

“It is so good to see you both! Welcome to Mexico!”

“Thanks, it’s Ian, right?”

Yevgeny shakes his hand firmly and Ian gets a tiny thrill of pride

*Mickey made this kid. This sharp, beautiful boy. He’s Mickeys!*

“Yeah, can I take your bag? We parked right out front.”

Ian takes the rucksack from Yev’s hands and the kid immediately stuffs them into his pockets and switches his gaze back to Mickey, although both are doing their best not to appear too interested.

“Shall we go?”

Svetlana hoists her own bag onto her shoulder impatiently.

“I need a cigarette and fresh air.”

“Yeah let’s fuckin’ go.”

Mickey nods and turns on his heel, grabbing Yev’s backpack from Ian and holding it protectively as he leads the way.

“I must sit in the front, my travel sickness is very bad.”

Svetlana announces as they are loading the bags into the trunk of Ian’s old Ford. Yev shrugs and gets into the back of the car, closing the door behind him.

“I’ll drive.”

“What? No! Talk to your kid!”

“I can’t talk to him for that long! Jesus! I can’t even talk to you for that long!”

Mickey whispers furiously, looking up at Ian with wild, pleading eyes and Ian sighs in exasperation but quietly hands the car keys over.

*

Ian chats away happily as they make their way home. He fills Yevgeny and Svetlana in on local sites and local facts and makes Mickey stop to show them an old fountain outside a church that was apparently blessed by a saint.

Mickey leans against the car door and lights up a cigarette as Ian drags Svetlana closer to look at the inscription but Yev manages to dodge around a pale palm tree and loop back to the car before Ian can snag him.

“Can I bum a cigarette?”

He asks Mickey, looking up from under lowered brows, his voice unnaturally deep as he tries to be what he thinks his father will want a son to be.

“You smoke?”

“Psshh. Yeah! All the time. I fuckin’ love it.”

Yev licks his lip and stands up a little straighter. Mickey smirks slightly and nods to Svetlana

“Your Mom gonna tear me a new one if she sees you doin’ it?”

“Nah, man. She just has to deal.”

Yev puffs his chest out and mirrors Mickey’s posture, holding out his hand for the packet. Mickey snorts and hands it over, watching as Yev fumbles the lighter but finally manages to get it lit and inhales enthusiastically before doubling over coughing. Mickey grins to himself and claps a hand on Yevgeny’s shoulder, as the boy looks up utterly humiliated. Mickey hasn’t forgotten how fragile the ego is at sixteen, nor has he forgotten just how desperate he was to please Terry at every turn.

“Don’t worry about it, Mexican cigarettes are stronger. I should’ve warned you.”

“Oh. Yeah. No it’s cool. Thanks.”

Yev is blushing furiously and Mickey tries to think of a point of reference that they might share. He nods his head toward Ian and Svetlana

“You into history at all? Ian likes it.”

“Nah. What are you into?”

Mickey thinks for a moment. He can’t really say cigarettes, guns, pot, beer and sex. Well … maybe he could but he doesn’t want to. He tries to think of something Yev might approve of.

“I got a canoe a couple years ago, I like to take that out on the ocean.”

“Cool!”

Yev nods enthusiastically and Mickey grins, then clicks his head left and right, noticing with a faint touch of pride that Yev does the same. He begins to wonder if having a kid is really just like having a big puppy that follows you around adoringly and occasionally shits on the rug.

“I went on a boat once, it wasn’t a canoe but it was cool.”

“Cooler than a fuckin’ fountain?”

Mickey arches his eyebrows and nods toward Ian who is in full flow and Svetlana who looks bored to tears. Yev grins shyly and shrugs, scratching the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, like, no offence to your husband though.”

“Ah, none taken, man. He’s not normally this much of a dork, just really excited to see you I think.”

“Yeah?”

Yev looks suddenly hopeful and Mickey isn’t sure why so he hedges his bets and changes the subject

“Doin’ good in school?”

“I guess. Mom writes you though, right? Tells you about school and stuff? She said she did that…”

“Oh yeah, I mean she does, I was just … I dunno. Just askin’ I guess.”

Mickey draws deeply on his cigarette and looks away and Yev mistakes his discomfort for annoyance

“You can ask! I mean, you paid for, like, more than half of it right? Mom says you always send money…”

Put like that Mickey realises just how flimsy his involvement has been and clears his throat self-consciously.

“Yeah.”

“Thank you by the way. You didn’t have to.”

Mickey has no idea what to do with being thanked for that and awkwardly pats Yevgeny’s shoulder, giving him a small smile.

“You’re welcome.”

The two stand in silence then until Ian finally releases Svetlana and they all resume their journey.

*

Evidently Yevgeny is feeling a little emboldened by having his first proper (sort of) conversation with his father because he is more chatty on the second leg of the journey. Ian can’t get enough of hearing the kid talk. He sounds just like Mickey! They both grew up in South Side so the inflections are the same but it’s more than that. Listening to Yev speak is like hearing Mickey as a teenager but with less threats and swearing. If Mickey had been into football and playing piano (fucking piano! Ian squeals internally) he would have sounded just like this.

“I prefer to compose my own stuff now, ya know? I mean, playing other people’s stuff is great but it is awesome to hear something you’ve imagined coming to life. Do you guys play any instruments?”

Mickey peers at Yev in the mirror and shakes his head

“A little guitar maybe but I suck. Never had the patience to learn.”

“None at all.”

Ian smiles guiltily at Yev, who shrugs and smiles.

“Mom wasn’t sure who I got my music talent from.”

“Not true, all your fine qualities come from me.”

Svetlana laughs, nudging Mickey with her elbow. Mickey tongues his lip and grins at her

“Hey, I changed a few diapers, that probably had positive impact, right?”

“Me too actually!”

Ian pipes up.

“So everyone in this car has seen my ass?”

“Pretty much. Yeah.”

Ian nods cheerfully and Yev sighs, a very familiar long-suffering sigh, blue eyes rolling wearily.

“Great.”

*

Yevgeny nods off about thirty minutes away from Galagers. Mickey checks in the mirror a couple of times, checking the gentle rise and fall of his sons chest.

“Anything I should keep my mouth shut about?”

He asks, looking pointedly at Svetlana. She shrugs and shakes her head

“He knows all there is to know.”

“Could you be a bit more fuckin’ specific?”

Mickey snaps irritably and Svetlana blinks languidly at him.

“He knows he is the product of unwanted sex between his homosexual father and hooker mother, forced by his paternal grandfather who has spent most of his life in prison. He knows his father is a fugitive who married the man who kidnapped him as a baby and lives in Mexico. He knows to keep his mouth shut about these things as well.”

Svetlana ducks her head, lighting a cigarette and then narrows her eyes at the dawning look of incredulous horror Mickey is giving her

“What?”

“ ‘What’? Are you fuckin’ kidding me? Those are fuckin horrible things for the kid to know!”

Mickey turns to look at Ian for reassurance and Ian nods grimly

“Yeah, that’s pretty fucked up, Svet.”

“What part of it is untrue?”

She snaps back at both men and Mickey frowns, shifting in his seat uncomfortably.

“None of it but, you know, I don’t want him thinkin’ he’s a rape baby. That’s a heavy thing for a kid his age to find out.”

“He has known since he was eight.”

“EIGHT?”

Mickey and Ian cry in unison and Svetlana shrugs a little defensively

“He asked why his father never calls or visits. What would you have rather I told him?”

“That I’m a fuckin’ asshole not worth his time! Jesus, Svetlana. Hey, did you let him believe in Santa or did you just slice that one right off the bat too?”

Mickey shakes his head angrily and Svetlana sighs heavily.

“Of course we had Santa, Idiot! But truth is important for children. Yevgeny is a sensitive boy, it is important for him to understand his existence.”

“It’s fucked up, that’s what it is.”

Mickey huffs and turns his attention completely to the road. Ian takes in the tense set of his husband’s shoulders and clears his throat tentatively.

“Perhaps it is good that he knows the truth. Means he gets it, Mick.”

Mickey grunts in response and the three of them lapse into silence.

“I’m sorry if it makes you angry. I thought it for the best.”

Svetlana ventures finally and Mickey flicks his eyes towards her, scanning for sarcasm and finding none.

“It’s fine. It sucks but yeah … it is the truth and … he seems happy enough.”

It is a question but he won’t allow himself to phrase it like one, just in case the answer is not what he desperately hopes to hear.

“He has always been a very happy boy. He wanted for nothing and grew up loved.”

Mickey rolls his shoulders and then sighs

“Well then… thank you, I guess.”

“Life is funny, yes?”

“Yeah. Fuckin’ hilarious.”

Mickey says dryly and Ian smiles slightly as Svetlana gives Mickey’s arm a very light squeeze.

*

For the first week, Yevgeny follows Mickey around constantly. He helps stock the bar, he goes to the store, he is into everything Mickey does and in turn Mickey swallows his natural inclination toward running errands in solitude and does his best to embrace Yev’s interest.

He takes Yev out in the canoe and after basically wrestling the kid into a life preserver, allows him to take it out by himself a few times, though he paces the shore anxiously each time until Yev is safely back.

Yev shadows him so faithfully that Mickey get’s kind of used to it so when Yev doesn’t appear one morning to drive into town, Mickey is a little disappointed. Not surprised, because getting booze and groceries with your dad can only be interesting for so long, right? But still, he has come to value the quiet thirty minute round trip and the easy flow of conversation.

He figures Yev must have gone down to the beach early because he isn’t on the sofa bed and Mickey runs the errand on his own. When he gets back, Svet has gone shopping in town and Ian is in the kitchen making coffee.

“You seen Yev?”

“No, we thought he was with you?”

“Nah. He never showed up.”

Mickey frowns and drums his fingers against his leg, instantly worried. Ian shrugs and smiles, handing Mickey a steaming mug.

“Probably just gone for a wander.”

“Yeah. Hey, the canoe ain’t on the porch, did you store it?”

“No. But that probably answers where Yev is.”

Ian’s cheery lack of concern grates on Mickey’s nerves and he scowls at his husband.

“Well he ain’t supposed to go out without telling me. What if a fuckin’ freak wave catches him?”

“Oh, you mean like all those ‘freak waves’ that we get warned about around here? Relax. He’s fine.”

Ian smirks and Mickey shoots him a withering look

“A freak wave would be a fuckin’ random occurrence, smart ass.”

“Maybe Yev put it away for you? Have you checked the lock-up?”

Mickey admits he hasn’t and Ian ruffles his hair affectionately, ignoring the impatient flapping as Mickey shoos him away

“I like seeing you in protective dad mode, it’s kinda hot.”

“I’m not in … shut the fuck up!”

Mickey allows a small grin to curl the corner of his mouth and takes his coffee and dignity outside, Ian trailing in his wake as he strides around the back of Galagers.

“So if the canoe is in there, are we going to calm down or shall we call the coast guard?”

Ian teases and Mickey is about to retort but a sound catches his attention and he holds up a stilling hand, setting his coffee cup on the ground. There is a muffled thumping coming from the lock-up and what sounds like crying.

Ian clearly hears it to because his eyes narrow and he grabs a plank of drift wood at his feet, nodding to Mickey. Mickey nods back and makes a ‘wait here’ gesture as he takes a firm grip on the door. One … two … three …

Mickey wrenches the door open ready to start swinging fists at the same moment as Ian lunges forward, plank of wood held high. There is a flash of dark skinned calve wrapped around a pale ass and then two high, guilty gasps of shock as the couple roll apart and hastily adjust their dishevelled clothing, scrabbling to their feet as the adults stare at them in horrified amusement.

“Hey Dad! Uh…”

Yevgeny gives his father a wonky smile as colour floods his face and he glances sideways at Christina, who is grimacing back at him.

Mickey glances down between the young couple and his eyebrows, which had shot up to his hairline, lower as he throws out his hands in a ‘what the fuck’ gesture

“Oh come on, man! On my fuckin’ canoe?”

“Sorry.”

Yev hunches his shoulders defensively. For a moment there is silence and then a strangled snort to Mickey’s right cuts through the air. Ian’s whole body is vibrating with suppressed laughter, his chin quivering helplessly.

“Really? You can’t hold your shit together for two fuckin’ minutes and be a grown up?”

Mickey looks up at him, shaking his head in exasperation but his own lip is trembling precariously. Christina grabs Yev’s hand and tugs him forward

“We’ll go …”

“Oh really, Tina? You don’t wanna finish?”

Mickey quips but there is no heat to his words at all and he is rapidly losing the battle against his laughter.

“Um… No. It’s okay. We can go somewhere else.”

Yev mumbles and as Christina slaps her boyfriends arm, Ian loses his shit completely, doubling over and clutching his middle as he laughs.

“Oh Yev! Oh my God! No paternity test is ever going to be needed, kid. Oh my God!”

Mickey rolls his eyes at his husband before pointing a finger at his son

“I want it spotless in here, and learn to lock the fuckin’ door.”

He catches Ian by the collar and tugs him out

“Hey! Be safe! Condoms are in the bathr…”

“Not now!”

Mickey snaps at his husband, kicking the door shut behind them. Yev and Christina grin guiltily at each other and then have to smother laughs of their own as Ian happily asks when could possibly be a better time.

*

Mickey is scrolling through his phone on the porch a little while later and he glances up at the sound of footsteps.

“Hey.”

Yev approaches Mickey sheepishly, not sure whether he is actually in trouble or not.

“Hey. You walk Tina home?”

“Yeah. I mean, like, it’s the middle of the day but yeah, I did.”

“Good. She’s a nice girl. You treat her right, you hear me?”

Mickey fixes Yev with a stern blue eyed stare but his expression clears as soon as the boy nods.

“Alright.”

Yev scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and takes a deep breath

“You can yell if you want? I fucked up.”

“Nah, you’re fine. My dad caught me fuckin’ someone once, it happens.”

Mickey shrugs and Yev grins at him

“Yeah look how that ended up.”

He gestures at himself and Mickey snorts, amused. It’s a lame joke and kind of distasteful but that’s Mickey’s sense of humour too so how can he blame Yevgeny for having it?

“True.”

They are quiet for a minute and then Mickey coughs and ducks his head, looking up at his son from beneath gently swept brows. He has been thinking about when he would say something since Svetlana told him about Yevgeny’s knowledge of his conception and now seems as good a time as any.

“Hey listen, I … ah … I know you know how all that shit when down, how me and your Mom … anywya you know your Mom loves you?”

Yevgeny nods, his eyes huge and round, waiting for his father to continue.

“Well I want you to know that I love you too. If things had been different, I would have stuck around, Yevgeny. I would have been there. I never held any of that shit against you. You’re the one good thing to come out of it and I’m really glad you’re here. Me and Ian both are. I shouldn’t have left it so long.”

Mickey finishes and straightens to his full height waiting patiently for whatever Yevgeny might want to get off his chest. He owes him that much.

“Thank you but it’s fine. I’m here now and you and Ian are both being really cool to me. And I am sorry I had sex on the canoe.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mickey laughs as both of them grin, the tension draining from the atmosphere to be replaced with an easy companionship that is more than Mickey had ever dared hope for.

*

Yevgeny visits most school breaks and after high school he arrives in a battered old pick up to collect Christina for a tour of the USA, with a ring in his top pocket and a smile that melts Ian’s heart. He is young, beautiful and full of determined courage. Mickey hugs his son tightly and then steps back to let Ian in.

“I’m doing it, guys! I’m gonna ask her.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah Dad. I’m gonna wait until we get to New York and then I’m doing it.”

“Alright.”

Mickey nods and nudges Ian who slips Yev an envelope. Yev frowns and peers inside

“Guys, this is too much!”

“It’s a border crossing tradition in this family. When you start a new life, you get a wad of cash.”

Mickey grins and Ian shakes his head with a long suffering sigh, though a small smile is tugging at the corner of his own mouth.

*

Time winds onwards and soon Svetlana is stood in a beautiful Mexican church, cradling baby Miguel in her arms, utterly besotted with her first grandson.

“Ah! We have another set of those blue eyes in the world.”

She coos happily, glancing at her own blue eyed boy who is deep conversation with his aunt and uncle who have come to the church for the celebration.

“Yeah, he’s beautiful isn’t he?”

Ian smiles indulgently down at his grandson and carefully traces one chubby pink cheek with his finger. Yev makes his way over to them, looking at his watch.

“Do you think we should start? The priest is getting antsy”

“No, we must wait for your father.”

“Or what? It didn’t happen?”

Yev quips irritably, oblivious to the startle his words give his mother. Svetlana smothers her smile in the sweet smelling lace of Miguel’s gown.

The church doors open and all present turn to watch Mickey dash up the flagstones, waving his apologies

“Sorry! I had to pick something up.”

He takes the steps up to the font two at a time and produces a sleek box from his pants pocket, handing it to Yevgeny with another grimaced apology and then taking his place beside Ian and Svetlana who jabs him and whispers.

“Do you enjoy being late to christenings or is it just habit?”

“You always ask the weirdest fuckin’ questions.”

Mickey frowns as she happily passes his name sake into his arms. Mickey jiggles his grandson, looking down at him with a mixture of awe and pride.

“He’s perfect, isn’t he? I mean, I know I’m supposed to think that, but look at him!”

Ian kisses the greying hair at Mickey’s temple and nods

“He is. Milkovich’s make very pretty babies.”

Mickey smirks and hands Miguel over to Christina.

“Thanks Dad, and thank you both for the gift.”

She kisses his cheek gratefully and Mickey nods, blushing a little.

“You’re welcome.”

The ceremony is held in the same church as Mandy and Juan married in all those years before and Mickey and Ian take the same seats, their hands linked just as tightly.

The future which has always stretched so far before them zooms into focus and then expands beyond them, the legacy of their love carried on the lips and in the memories of their family.

They walk home from the ceremony, pausing to kick off their shoes when they reach the beach and strolling across the warm sand barefoot, hand in hand. They have walked home this way for nearly twenty years and despite being careful, there is still sand in their shoes at the end of every trip. Neither of them mind and neither could be happier.


End file.
